THE SOUTHLAND FIRESTORM: A SPECIAL REPORT : EYEWITNESS : BARRY BIERMANN: California Department of Forestry : ‘I Had No More Air, the Oxygen Had Gone and I Couldn’t Breathe Any More’

Barry Biermann, 28, of the California Department of Forestry, has souvenirs few firefighters would envy : charred collar insignia and a badge burned so badly the state seal has dropped off. Biermann, Capt. Al McBride, 43, and Sean Kite, 25, all from Butte County, were injured in the Calabasas/Malibu blaze. Biermann and Kite were released Wednesday from the burn unit at Sherman Oaks Hospital, where McBride is still being treated. Biermann’s story is the team’s story. *

When we drove into the canyon, I made a comment to my firefighters that we were looking right into the eyes of hell. We had taken field weather observations when we staged at Pepperdine . . . knew we had winds gusting to 40 m.p.h. in the hills and the relative humidity was 5%. That told us you weren’t going to stop this fire. You’re going to try and save property and lives, but this fire is going to stop when the weather wants it to.

We knew the risks, so we had extra shelters on the (fire) engine. A fire shelter is a silver pup tent we carry next to us. If overrun by fire, we deploy ‘em and crawl into ‘em. They are not pulled out unless it is either that or die. And they were pulled out.

We stopped at one house, I went down to a second house . . . and as I was coming up, the fire came from the other side of the canyon. The whole canyon blew at once, just turned into a fireball and came through us. It burned us so fast that my captain saw it coming, but only took one or two steps before it blew right on through him.

I saw it go behind me, and said: “I’ve got to get to my safety spot or I’m going to die right here.” My safety spot was next to the house, with some (brush) clearance and an inch-and-a-half charge line.

I got to that hose and saw my firefighter (Sean Kite) was all right. I said: “Let’s battle.” The firefighter laid down and I knelt behind him. We started to charge the hose with a fog pattern to cool off coals from the flames, and then we were going to turn and cool off the house after the fire blew through.

Just as we were charging, the fire came in so quick it burned up the hose and we lost all water. The fire went from just burning . . . to coming right into us, turning into a blowtorch.

I started turning (with my back to the flames) deeper and deeper. I was screaming on the radio for water and there was no water. At that point, I said to myself: “I’m not going to lay here. . . . I’m not going to be a shrinky dink.”

We’re trained to use a house for safety. A house takes a while to burn. If you can get into a house, maybe stay there for a half an hour, by then the outside is cool and you can get out. So I hit my firefighter and yelled that we’d better get out. I took off around the house and he deployed his shelter, threw it over him, got up and ran.

I ran by the garage door as it ripped open from the wind. There was a whole whirlpool of embers, flame and hell going on and I knew I couldn’t breathe in there. My problem wasn’t the heat . . . I had no more air, the oxygen had gone and I couldn’t breathe any more.

I ran around to the front door, a solid oak door that was locked. I was so tired, and knew I’d only get one shot at it. I backed up two or three steps, put my head down and ran full speed through the door.

I landed on the family room floor in white carpet. I just remember my face being in that carpet and finding oxygen and starting to breathe again. That was the best feeling. I knew then we were going to make it.

Sean came running by and we both got into the house. The fire was still ripping through, but I had a handy-talkie and was in communication with my two partners, the captain and firefighter (John Mattos) who dove into the engine as a safety point.

Al (McBride) had been burned. Sean and I had burns and smoke inhalation. We went out, saw the engine on fire . . . and told the other guys they had to come into the house.

Then, the home started to go. We tried getting a garden hose to that but there was no water pressure. It was burning at the eaves and starting to get into the attic.

Two engines on our strike team . . . heard me calling for help on the radio. I ordered up a helicopter, saying I had a burned captain . . . they came in and we connected their hose and, with the L.A. guys, made an attack on the structure fire.

The hardest part of this whole incident--and this goes for myself and my firefighters and my captain--was being in the hospital and knowing we couldn’t get back out there. Sitting there, doing nothing, knowing that we might have saved an extra house or two, was the hardest part.

We were watching TV in the hospital and there was coverage of where we had been. It showed our tents where we had dragged them into the house . . . and I go: “Oh, man. The house is still there.”

And we got a letter from the people who own that house, thanking us. I plan on framing that letter.