Bushfires have been raging through the Blue Mountains for over seven days, all around my home. Yesterday, the fire front reached my back yard. It had broken through two containment lines. These lines encircle the town, concentric defences against attack by wild fires from the bush or forest.

I had never realised this before, but yesterday I saw the lines very clearly, and saw the fire coming upon each one, sometimes in a great rush, a huge wall of fire, roaring and flaming many metres skywards, with confusing clouds of smoke swirling everywhere; at other times silently dropping little embers from the sky on the other side of the line, each one flaring up and staring a new fire unless quickly extinguished by the firefighters. After a week of constant assault people are tired and wary: the fire is capricious and unpredictable, always lurking, probing, being beaten somewhere but gaining ground somewhere else.

I was standing on the roof yesterday, the worst day, when I suddenly saw the lines of defence, running through the forest and around the back of houses and yards. Why hadn't I seen this before?

The containment lines of the Blue Mountains – the 1st, 2nd and 3rd positions of Königsberg: the enemy is different, but their weapons not dissimilar. As the flames and smoke raged along the back of my yard, trying to break in and mercilessly destroy all in its path; as the firefighters ran around the house, training hoses on the flames, in the heat and noise and smoke I began to panic. I thought I was prepared, ready for whatever would happen, strong enough to withstand it. But, just for a few minutes, I was overcome by fear, primal and raw.

Then a fireman put his hand on my shoulder: “Will you stay or go?” he asked. “Stay, I want to stay” I said – a decision made in an instant, or an earlier decision reaffirmed. The words cast aside the panic, I was back. I joined the fight, spraying water, searching for the little spot fires, extinguishing them. And then it was done. The flames quenched. Just the acrid, searing smoke was left. The fire fighters moved down the street to continue the battle, I was left standing alone in the garden, watching and spraying water.

In terms of an outcome, it was no Königsberg. But in terms of continual assaults, of defences crumbling, of staring into the face of the enemy, of desperate fear – as I stood in the smoking garden, stunned but adrenalin still pumping, the Lady of Königsberg was with me. I had survived. I was safe. But I had been for a little while in both 2006 and 1945, bridged by panic and fear.