The sound of sirens still echoes in the ears.
The scent of smoke, rubble, and fear has not yet faded from the memory of the streets.
Tehran—on the days when its sky was unsafe and its hearts were anxious—saw the rise of silent heroes; unarmed, yet powerful; not to fight, but to save.
The shadow of missiles still hangs over memories.
Streets once full of life turned within minutes into scenes of destruction and screams.
Women clutching their children, men clearing debris with bare hands, and rescuers in the red uniforms of the Red Crescent searching through dust and blood for a sign of life.
In the heart of those harrowing days are names that departed in silence yet became a cry—a cry of sacrifice, a cry of devotion.

One of those names is Mojtaba Maleki—a young man from the generation of the 1370s (1990s), who devoted his life to saving others, and whose death became a deeper meaning of living.
He was neither a military commander nor a public figure in the media; but with a heart full of faith, he went on missions every day—missions that sometimes smelled of smoke, sometimes of tears, and finally, of blood.
A humble rescuer who, from his youth, had learned how to extend a helping hand instead of a fist, and how to stand firm in the heart of disaster rather than flee.

His final mission was like all the others: helping the injured, rescuing the trapped, easing the pain of those buried under fear and rubble.
But this time, the enemy was waiting—ruthless and deliberate—targeting ambulances and taking the lives of the most defenseless.
Mojtaba left—with that same familiar smile seen in the last photo taken beside his comrades.
He left, but his story remained: the story of those who came quietly, gave their lives so that the name of Iran would endure, so that humanity itself would endure.

His dream was martyrdom. In every prayer, he asked God to grant him that destiny—and in the end, he reached his greatest wish.
“Nameless heroes” is the best title for them—the rescuers who wear the sacred uniform of humanity, who run into fire and ruins to serve; who give their lives to save another.
The unknown and humble heroes of this land, during the twelve sacred days of defending the motherland, stood firm for the name of Iran—at the cost of their lives.

According to the Red Crescent Society, on Monday, June 26, the news came that the Zionist regime had attacked a Red Crescent ambulance, and two rescuers were martyred in service. One of them was Mojtaba Maleki.

“None of us had ever seen war, but we were completely ready.”

Hossein Nikbakht, Mojtaba’s friend and colleague, was beside him that Monday during the intense rescue operations in Tehran.

“We took pictures, joked, and talked about relief work and martyrdom.
None of us had ever seen war—we had no real image of it.
Those were the hardest days of our lives.
Among all disasters, war was the most painful, seeing destroyed homes, women and children pulled from the ruins, hoping to find a single living soul.”

That same afternoon, western Tehran was attacked again, and they were dispatched for another operation.
There was one ambulance and one rescue vehicle.
Hossein was supposed to go with Mojtaba in the ambulance, but plans changed—three others went instead, and he went with the rescue truck.

He recalls entering the zone to assess damage when the first explosion hit—followed by another, even stronger.

“Moments later, I regained consciousness and realized I was injured—but I stood up and started looking for my colleagues.
I found everyone except Behnam and Mojtaba.”

He moved toward their vehicles parked a short distance away.

“Our ambulance was completely burned—nothing left of it.
I had seen in Gaza that the Zionist regime even attacks rescuers, but I couldn’t believe it until I saw our ambulance destroyed.
A few minutes later, Behnam came toward us, covered in blood—but there was no sign of Mojtaba.”

They hoped to find him alive.

“About an hour later, we saw soldiers carrying two bodies.
Soon after, another covered body was brought—it was Mojtaba Maleki, our dear friend, married just two or three years ago, along with another rescuer named Amirhossein Jamshidpour.
Those two bodies were ours.
The entire team was devastated, so they didn’t let us see the remains—but later I heard Mojtaba had been struck by shrapnel in the head and chest.”

From his teens, he pursued Red Crescent training

He had been married only a few short years. Together, they had painted countless dreams for the future.
His grieving wife speaks of his lifelong passion for volunteering and helping others:

“Since his teenage years, Mojtaba wanted to complete Red Crescent courses.
He used to tell me that once, when he was very young and waiting in line for bread, an old man in front of him suffered a heart attack.
No one knew how to help, and the man died before his eyes.
That tragic moment pushed Mojtaba to learn first aid and emergency care—and he eventually earned the Degree of Sacrifice, the highest Red Crescent training rank.”

His wish was martyrdom

“That morning, June 26, Mojtaba left for his mission like every other day.
But that day’s goodbye felt different,” his wife says softly.
“We had been married almost three years. His lifelong wish was martyrdom.
He always prayed for it—and in the end, he reached it.
When the Zionist attacks on our beloved Iran began, I was terrified.
I knew what my husband’s purpose was.
He would often say, ‘We must wipe Israel off the map; we must end global oppression, and we are capable of it.’”

The last phone call

“By noon, I heard that Israel might attack several places in Tehran—IRIB, Chitgar, and others.
I called him many times that morning, begging him to be careful.
The last time we spoke was around 5:30 PM. He sounded very busy.
I reminded him again to stay safe. He said, ‘We’re on alert; don’t worry. Whatever God wills, will happen.’
I said goodbye—never knowing it would be the last time I’d hear his voice.”

She continues, her voice trembling:

“I’m a nurse. When my shift ended, I called him again—but someone else answered.
They told me a missile had struck part of Tehran during an operation.
Mojtaba and three ambulances had gone to rescue the injured.
But the enemy had been waiting—drones hovering above—deliberately targeting the ambulances.
Defenseless, unarmed people—killed while trying to save their fellow citizens.”

A rescuer’s testimony from the battlefield

Hazrati-Fard, another rescuer present at the scene, was wounded in the same attack.
His heavy voice reveals how painful the memory still is.

“I don’t even know what happened.
All I could think about was finding Mahdi and Mojtaba.
We were moving away from the ambulance when it was hit.
Mojtaba was gone.
I was thrown by the blast.
When I regained consciousness, a colleague was dragging me away.
I screamed and fought to go back. I wanted to reach my teammates.
But they forced me into another ambulance.
My ears were ringing; I couldn’t hear.
All I could think about were my friends.
I still can’t believe they’re gone.”

He adds:

“From day one, Mojtaba always said—with the crisis we’re in, we must stay by the people’s side.
All of us rescuers go on missions with love, to serve.
And each time we went to a war zone, we hugged, took a photo together, and said goodbye—because maybe that mission would be our last.”