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Informationen zum Autor John Norman Maclean is an award–winning author and journalist who has written about wildland fire for more than 15 years. Before turning to fire, Maclean was for 30 years a journalist with The Chicago Tribune, most of that time as diplomatic correspondent in Washington. His first book, Fire on the Mountain , was featured in two documentaries by Dateline NBC and the History Channel. He has also written Fire and Ashes and The Thirtymile Fire , both widely celebrated and critically acclaimed. He and his wife divide their time between Washington, DC and the West. Klappentext A wildfire that stunned the nation. A trial that made history. This is not just the story of a fire—it’s the story of how justice flickered to life in the ashes. In the early morning hours of October 26, 2006, a wall of fire exploded across a dry California ridge—consuming everything in its path, including the five-man Forest Service crew of Engine 57. What began as a brush fire became a national tragedy. And what followed was unprecedented: a murder trial. The Esperanza Fire wasn’t just another wildfire. It was a turning point in America’s relationship with the wildland-urban interface. The blaze cost $16 million to fight—but the real cost was five lives lost in seconds, when an “area ignition” swept the home they were defending. When Raymond Oyler stood trial for setting the fire, a packed Riverside County courtroom held its breath. Oyler became the first person in U.S. history to be convicted of murder for starting a wildfire—a case that reshaped how we prosecute environmental destruction and hold arsonists accountable. Award-winning journalist and wildfire expert John Maclean spent more than five years investigating the Esperanza Fire and covering every detail of the trial. In The Esperanza Fire , he delivers a gripping, insider’s account—moment by moment, witness by witness, flame by flame. Leseprobe Excerpt from The Esperanza Fire When Courts at last saw the second flare-up, he threw off the hose packs and began a race for his life, up toward the road. Like Mitchell before him, Courts also took a backward glance ? the need for a last look back seems to be embedded in the human psyche ? and what he saw stopped him cold: the overweight and exhausted Miller was sitting on a rock taking a breather. ?Lets get out of here!” Courts yelled. ?I’m okay here,” Miller replied. ?The hell you are!” Courts shouted. ?Let’s get out of here!” Courts resumed his mad scramble up the slope. His legs burned and turned to rubber, his breath came in shallow gasps, his throat turned cotton-dry. He kept repeating to himself, as he later told fire investigators, ?I’m going to make it! I’m going to make it no matter what.” Twice more he glanced back and saw Miller, on his feet at last, struggling less than 20 feet behind him. The line between life and death came down to a few feet, a few seconds. Courts stumbled as he tried to lift a leg, nearly petrified by exhaustion, over the guardrail at the roadway. Never had anything so low seemed so insurmountably high. He managed to crawl over the guardrail, but his legs failed him and he collapsed in a heap. When he recovered enough to rise, he stumbled back to the guardrail and looked down for Miller. As Courts peered into the abyss, the fire roared ?and a large mass of smoke, ashes, and heat” smacked him in the face. Barely able to breathe, he lurched across the highway to the partial protection of a cutbank and fell to the ground. He pulled his fire shirt over his head and put his face in the dirt, trying to suck life from the thin layer of oxygen at ground level. He stayed like that for long minutes, tucked against the cutbank, his lungs aching and his breath coming in snatches. When the worst had passed, he got to his feet, walked back to the guardrail, and, eyes smarting, ...
