Monday, April 16, 1972, 1:01 AM

Knowing he had but a few moments to make his search for trapped victims, Jackie Mulligan plunged into the burning apartment through the fire escape window. Crawling on all fours, he began feeling for victims.  Mulligan hurried into the apartment's long hallway, engulfed in thick, hot smoke that wanted to snuff out his life. Just then the ceiling above him exploded with fire.

          "Whoa!" he roared. He felt himself burning; like his cheeks were being pricked by a thousand needle heads. In a flash, he spun around and scurried back through the long hallway towards the room he just came through. The light from the fiery ceiling revealed two smoke-filled rooms where he thought there was one. Which room did I come through? Picking the right room could mean the difference between life and death. He needed to enter the room with the fire escape. Otherwise, he would have no escape. By now his lungs were ready to explode for the want of fresh air.

          Why do I do these things, he asked himself. One of these days I won't be so lucky.

          He made his choice. After crawling back into the room, he kicked the door shut as far as he could, hoping to slow the fire's advance into that room. He then snaked across the floor, again slashing at the smoke, feeling for victims. Then all he could hear was a loud, rolling thunder. A powerful water stream was being discharged up ahead.

          "Oh shit!They're here," he yelled. Better get out before they blast my ass out the window. He was desperate for air.

          Engine 85 had just begun its attack on the fire with the hose line and was moving in along the hallway, coming from the apartment entrance. Mulligan knew they would be moving fast and that with all the noise of the water stream pounding the walls and ceilings and ripping them apart, his shouts would be drowned out. He did not want to be caught in the path of the water stream. It could be deadly.

          Time was running out. The pounding water stream was closing in on him. He rose to khis knees and started punching at the wall, feeling for a window. He shoved a table and lamp out of his way, sending them crashing to the floor. Air! Air! I got to get air. He got to his feet and began puking. As he puked all over himself, he kept moving, probing. "Where's that fucking window?" he roared. By now the crashing of the water stream sounded like it was on top of him. He said a prayer . . .