Fighting fire in war and peace: though seldom recognized, military firefighters have always played an indispensable role in saving lives. On numerous occasions both overseas in war and stateside in peace, these firefighters have sacrificed their own lives in doing so. A national military firefighter memorial is planned in their honor

VFW Magazine, March, 2003 by Michael Louis Kuk

Fighting fire is often compared to war. And the analogy is valid, particularly in the case of wildfires that devastate the American West. Combating a forest fire "is not unlike a chronic guerrilla war fought in rural or wild-land surroundings amid a backdrop of low-intensity raids broken by occasional flare-ups into pitched battles," wrote historian Stephen Pyne in Fire in America.

In a sense, both on the rural and urban fronts, "firefighting may be considered a moral equivalent of war," Pyne concluded. "Fatalities ensure that firefighting is not merely an exciting or expensive sport. Firefighting seems to offer the romance of battle without its moral ambivalence."

In any capacity, firefighting is inherently dangerous and the outcome is often unpredictable. Enter factors of being in a war zone, working with limited resources and restricted training opportunities, plus a host of other negative or unknown conditions, and it can all add up to a pending disaster.

Unfortunately, the duty of serving as a firefighter as part of a military operation--either in peace or war--has produced its share of tragedies with consequent casualties.

Here are accounts of six deadly fires in wildlands, at air bases and aboard ships. They include sailors, airmen, soldiers and Marines making the ultimate sacrifice.

Marines `Cooked' in Hauser Canyon

Oct. 2, 1943, Cottonwood Creek in Cleveland National Forest, southeastern San Diego County, was a fateful day for a group of WWII Marines. Eighty Marines from Pine Valley would engage in what was then the worst fire in the history of California's national forests.

Two hard hours of intensive fireline work found the Marines being forced into Hauser Canyon. Things got progressively worse because of the canyon's especially steep slopes. Rushing flames pushed the Marines into a rut. Wind shifts and inversions of flame sheets cut off their retreat to a safe area.

Three Leathernecks thought they could race through a wall of flame and break into a safe zone. But the fire front was deep and wide, and they became the first of 10 men to die there.

Some Marines found several open spaces, yet were still overwhelmed by the heat. Super-heated gases raced along the ground, burning their skin and lungs. The men were literally cooked by a combination of radiation and convection.

No one's uniform caught fire; just exposed skin and hair. Still, the Marines stood their ground. As the area burned and cooled, those who had minor injuries supported those unable to walk.

Service Troop of the Army's 10th Calvary had the unpleasant task of rescuing the Marines. A grisly sight of sagging flesh and awful blisters greeted the rescuers.

Every ambulance and truck was pressed into service for transport of the dead and dying back to Camp Lockett hospital. Four Marines later died in the Naval Hospital in San Diego.

A visitor to the hospital, remembered, "In all my life, I have never witnessed or been amidst such suffering and agony--you can't imagine burns of such a nature. I just cannot describe them."

The next day, now reinforced by the 28th Cavalry, 10th troopers were starting a backfire when a corporal became separated from his platoon. Running uphill close to the fire, he was burned to death. Besides the 10 fatalities, 73 military personnel suffered burn injuries.

"The Marines and federal foresters had retreated before the rushing flames" reported The San Diego Union. "A wind shift sent fire leaping at them, and cut off their retreat ... The fire `ran over' them, and although none of the leaping flames actually touched the men, five more--four Marines and a soldier--died of burns suffered in the heat."

Buel Hunt, Cleveland National Forest's training officer, recalled: "The fire was all around us. There didn't seem to be anything else to do but burrow in and let the worst of it go by ... We couldn't get through the flames ... I could feel the flames scorching my legs. I wondered if my legs were burning off. It was the most painful thing I ever suffered."

Hunt paid tribute to the servicemen: "The thing that impressed me the most was the manner in which the Marines conducted themselves under the advance of the flames. Their coolness was something I will never forget. Not a bit of hysteria that might have cost everyone his life. They didn't yell or cry for help as the flames rushed at and over them. They had more guts than anyone I ever saw. I've seen some terrible accidents, but in all of them there was nothing equaling the courage of these fellows."

Sheet of Flame Consumes Airmen

Seven years and another war later, a stateside fire claimed half as many fatalities among Air Force firefighters.

At Fairfield-Suisun (now Travis) Air Force Base, Calif., on Aug. 4, 1950, a B-29 Super Fortress aircraft crashed, due to engine failure, near the trailer park at the main gate.

Though the control tower had scrambled crash crews, they and their carbon dioxide crash rigs were more than a mile away from the site. But firefighters assigned to the base's structural fire engines arrived immediately. A burning plane fully loaded with fuel awaited them.