The cold. Incredible cold, was whipping through the cockpit.
Visability was next to zero.
The young pilot guided his Spitfire towards home.
He had not seen the other planes since the absolute massacre earlier that day.
The little Alpine village stretched before him. He knew he had to make it through the pass before he could land on the camoflaged airstrip just north of the town.
His fuel tank had been hit during the battle as had his left wing.
As the plane limped low through the village he noticed the regulation lights out, curfew had begun. This left visability through the trecherous pass at zero. He was flying blind.
As the plane came out of the pass ,the pilot knew he was going to be alright.
A sudden flash of blinding light hit the plane causing it to career wildly and spiral towards the ground where it broke into large metal fragments.
Lightening had ended the young pilots life, one breath away from home.