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Here is Chapter two of my series The Gate-Way. It is a great deal different then chapter 1 but I am sure you will enjoy it and I promise it will all make sense as the series progresses. I would just like to take this moment to make note of something. During this chapter I use the slur "Kraut" I did so only as it was appropriate for that character, it is not ment at all as an insult to Germanic peoples. Nor do I have any prejudice against Germanic Peoples, I would like to appologize now to any Germanic Peoples who were offended by my use of the slur and to say that offence was never my intent. Once again I would like to take the time to thank all of those who read my stories, a special thanks to all those who comment, and a very special thanks to my editors, editor in chief and best friend. All comments, suggestions and constructive critisism is greatly appreciated and welcome.

*Note: All characters within this story are entirely of my own creation and design, or that of friends who have requested that I include them in my story. None of the characters in this or any of my other stories may be used without my expressed concent and permission.

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Chapter 2 - Skies On Fire

"Read 'em and weep," said Shawn, laying his cards out on the poker table. "Full House"

Grinning, he leaned back in his camp chair, balancing precariously on two legs. Across from him sat Andrew, his twin brother. They came from a small rural town in Quebec, when war broke out they had been among the first to sign up with the RCAF, determined to get a shot at the Germans.

They had demanded that not only that should they serve in the same wing, but the same squadron as well. And right from the start their commander was glad he had allowed them to, everything was a competition for them. Both had been at the top of their class in flight school, forever trying to outdo the other. From insane daredevil races around the airfield twenty feet above the ground in their freshly painted Spitfires, to wrestling and fighting matches that resulted in each of them bloodied and exhausted.

In combat they flew as one, bringing down more Germans than the rest of the squadron combined. A quick word or nod and they would be off, flying circles around any German foolish enough to get in their way. Working together they would send the enemy fighters crashing to the ground, nothing more than charred wrecks, their pilots drifting, humiliated and defeated, down on parachutes.

Tilting his glass of fine Irish ale up to his mouth he glanced across the table at his twin. His red hair was cut short on his head, meeting Air Force standards. A pair of large aviator glasses sat propped on the bridge of his thin beak like nose, hiding his dark green eyes. Andrew scratched at the short beard that covered his large square jaw. His eyebrows grew so that he looked to have a permanent scowl on his hard face.

Tossing his cards down on the table Andrew reached for his glass of beer. Taking a long draught of the foamy liquid he slammed it down on the rickety card table, nearly buckling the thin metal legs. Staring at Shawn, suds dripping from his moustache, he crossed his thick arms across his huge chest.

"You have to be cheating; you haven't lost a hand yet," Andrew said glaring at his twin.

With a snort Shawn reached across the rickety metal table and pulled Andrews sun glasses off his face. Placing them on his own face he picked up one of his cards, he angled it just right so that the reflection of the card showed in them.

"Oh, I have my ways," Shawn said, a triumphant smirk spread across his hard features.

Seen the reflection of the card Andrew groaned in frustration at his own stupidity. Running a big beefy hand down his face, he took another draught of ale.

"I should have never trusted you when you offered to let me borrow your lucky shades," Said Andrew.

"Ha, you're such a drunk I'm surprised you actually caught on at all," Shawn snorted in contempt.

"I'M A DRUNK," Roared Andrew, fire burning in his eyes. "When you've seen the things, done the things I've done you'll see how much a strong drink helps. And I don't see a teacup sitting in front of you."

Sitting back down he put his face in his hands, elbows propped on the table that creaked under the weight. Hearing his brother heave a sigh, Shawn felt his own anger building.

"What do you mean when I have seen what you have, done what you've done. We've fought and flown together since the start of this war."

"Not the war," Andrew said quietly, the anger in his voice made it apparent he was holding back his rage. "At home, or have you forgotten already? All the nights I stayed up with you holding while you cried, sang to you to cover the noise of mom and dad fighting?"

"Shut Up, ok just shut up. I never asked you to do those things."

"NO? I seem to remember you BEGGING me to make them stop. All the times I went down stairs to tell them to stop. And what did I get a BLACK EYE NOT SO MUCH AS A THANK YOU," Andrew shouted no longer able to keep his rage in check. "WHEN DAD CAME HOME DRUNK AND STARTED BEATING YOU. DO YOU FORGET WHO IT WAS THAT STOPPED HIM? DID YOU FORGET HOW I GOT THIS SCAR?" He screamed pointing at a jagged scar that marred his face running from over his left eye across his nose ending beneath his right.

"Shut up," repeated Shawn, fists clenched, a tear rolled down his cheek.

"NO! I WILL NOT SHUT UP!" shouted Andrew his words becoming slurred as the ale took effect. "I STOPPED HIM FOR YOU I PROTECTED YOU! HE WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU IF I HADN'T STOPPED HIM."

"I SAID SHUT UP!" screamed Shawn drawing his fist back he delivered a hard punch to Andrew's jaw, snapping his head back.

Staggering back he shook his head, bellowing like a wounded ox he smashed aside the card table, sending it flying in a hail of poker chips and cards into the side of the tent. Shawn ducked the next swing that was aimed at his head and delivered a series of lightning fast blows to Andrew's stomach. Andrew brought his hand together and smashed them down on Shawn's back sending him sprawling to the earth floor.

Picking him up by the scruff of his shirt Andrew punched Shawn hard, breaking his nose. Shawn grabbed Andrew's fist before it could impact him again, slamming his head into Andrew's face. The other man roared and staggered away clutching his nose that was spraying blood.

Shawn's own nose was spewing blood, the pain making his eyes water. Rushing forward, he tackled Andrew, slamming him to the ground. Rolling back, Andrew used Shawn's momentum to send him flying over his head. Getting up he delivered a kick to Shawn's side, tears streamed down his face in anger and pain.

Catching Andrew's foot just as it was about to impact again, Shawn twisted it causing Andrew to fall with a heavy thud, knocking the breath from his body. Just as he was about to stagger over and continue pummelling his brother a knee slammed into his face sending him sprawling on his back. Eyes watering, his already broken nose throbbed.

Standing over him was Ace their squadron commander.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TOO IDOTS DOING? SAVE THE FIGHTING FOR JERRY" Ace towered over them red faced, his anger succeeded in working through their alcohol induced rage to cow them. "I SHOULD HAVE YOU BOTH COURT MARSHALLED! YOU'RE JUST LUCKY THERE IS A WAR GOING AND WE NEED ALL THE PILOTS WE CAN GET! I HAVE HAD IT! I DON'T CARE HOW WELL THE TWO OF YOU FLY! IF I EVER CATCH YOU DOING THIS AGAIN I'LL SHOOT YOU MYSELF! FROM THIS POINT ON CONSIDER YOURSELF GROUNDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE! IF YOU SO MUCH AS LOOK AT A SPITFIRE, I'LL HAVE YOU CLEANING THE LATRINES WITH YOUR TOOTH BRUSHES!" Chest heaving Ace felt nothing but contempt for the brothers. Yes they were the best pilots he had ever seen, but for them to fight each other like this was inexcusable.

"Both of you report to the infirmary, after which time you will be confined to your barracks until further notice."

The two of them walked out of the tent into the late afternoon sun. Shoulders slumped, they had been cowed by Aces rage but neither would look at the other.

After their cuts have been bandaged and noses set, they marched off to the barracks they shared with the rest of the wing. Standing inside were four of the biggest and meanest Military Police Officers they had ever seen. Each stood at a staggering six-foot five, while both Shawn and Andrew were well built and strong, the arms on the MPs were thicker than their legs.

The Lieutenant in charge of the group stepped up to them, his heavily scarred face a testament to the hundreds of bar brawls he had broken up. His dark brown eyes matched his hair that was shaved to regulation length. As he crossed his arms his muscles bulged, stretching his uniform to near tearing as he glared at them.

"I'm here to make sure you too idiots don't do anything stupid, now sit down and shut up." He said pointing to their bunks. "You can go to the latrines and the mess hall but you will remain here the rest of the time. Are we clear?"

"Sir Yes Sir," The brothers replied.

Slowly they made their way to their bunks; laying back, they once again did not so much as look at one another. They could not stop thinking of the old memories and anger that had been dredged up. One of the reasons they had joined the RCAF was to get away from their abusive father.

Laying down in his bunk Shawn stared up at the ceiling, memories of his father swirling around in his head. The MPs sat in the corner of the large barracks playing a game of cards, illuminated by the yellow glow of a light hanging over their table. Andrew snored softly in the background, Shawn closed his eyes as he felt sleep begin to overtake him. His mind swirling with thoughts of his father and the last time he had seen him. With a sigh he slipped into a deep restless sleep.

***

Shawn sighed, looking out the large picture window; he watched the golden field of wheat swaying lazily in the warm summer sun. Setting his book down on the old wooden table, it top scarred and burned from years of hard use, he looked around the old farm house kitchen. His eyes drifted past the old wooden cabinets that he and his father had made before things had gotten bad.

The old cast iron stove sat idly in the corner, its white surfaces and black gas burners cleaned and polished. Beside the stove in his old worn wicker basket slept Oscar, the family's ancient bloodhound. His large ears draped over his face, their ends fluttering every time the old hound exhaled. The dog had been a part of the farm long before Shawn had been born, spending hours on end keeping the farm clear of ground hogs and other rodents. Now the old dog just slept, his back legs growing weak and it was becoming painful for the old pooch to move.

Shawn wiped a tear from his eye as he watched the old dog, knowing that soon it would be time to put him down. Shaking his head he glanced up at the clock set over the stove as it chimed four o'clock. Looking out the window again he wondered where his twin Andrew was, probably asleep in the hay loft again, he thought to himself.

Shawn didn't want to be alone when his father came home from town. While he went to town for supplies and food, Shawn knew his father would spend most of the money he had left with on strong drinks in the town bar.

Hearing the front door open and close, he leaned back in his chair and looked down the hall. His twin brother Andrew was busy untying his muddy shoes, his messy red hair covered his eyes and he shook his head to clear them.

Walking in the kitchen he gave Shawn a quick nod before his head disappeared into the fridge. Pulling himself out a coke he sat down at the table, after talking a long refreshing drink he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Dad not back yet?" he enquired, his frustration obvious.

Shawn shook his head, not looking up from his book.

"He said he was going to the store then he had some errands to run," Shawn said, rolling his eyes.

Both of them knew that meant, he was going to the bar and would be coming home angry and drunk, never a good combination. Andrew and Shawn absolutely hated their father, ever since they could remember he had always been drunk. When he wasn't passed out on the couch or driving one of the tractors through the side of the barn, he would beat them senseless. Many times the neighbours would follow their father home to make sure he didn't hurt them.

Sometimes though, they weren't there, more than once Shawn had woken up with a black eye and broken nose, his father passed out drunk in the corner of the room. Andrew would be there, kneeling over him, his eyes full of tears fearing this would be the time his brother didn't wake up from the savage beating his father had dealt him.

Their father had fought in the trenches during the Great War, and the experience had broken him. He tried to wipe out the memories and images with alcohol, but that just made him dangerous. He hadn't always done that, it wasn't until their mother passed away that he started drinking, no longer able to handle reality.

Hearing a car door slam the boys sighed; Shawn looked up in time to see their father burst through the front door. His clothes were wrinkled and stained, and even from the kitchen Shawn could smell the strong odour of alcohol that clung to his father like a death shroud. Shutting the door with a clumsy swing of his arm he stumbled down the hall, tripping on the carpet he landed face first on the old hard wood floor.

Dragging himself to his feet he looked up and spotted the brothers, his blood shot eyes widened in fear, then narrowed in anger. With a snarl he staggered towards them.

"Trying to ambush me eh you bloody Krauts, I'll teach you to mess with me," his voice razing shouting the last few words at them.

The boys stood up, Andrew's fists were clenched while Shawn held his hands up before him.

"Dad it's us you need to calm down and go sleep this off," pleaded Shawn.

"Yeah old man get out of here now, I've had it with this bullshit when are you going to suck it up and be a man," said Andrew, not bothering to hold his contempt in check.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that," their father screamed, specks of foam flying from his mouth

With a speed that surprised them he punched Andrew in the stomach, gasping for breath Andrew bent over only to have his head snap back as his father brought his knee up into his face. Sprawling over his chair Andrew landed in a heap, gasping for breath, holding his nose.

Turning on Shawn he raised his fist again but this time Shawn was able to dodge the blow. He pleaded to his father to stop as he ducked another swing. Without warning his father lashed out with a foot tripping him, sprawled on the kitchen floor his father leapt atop him his hands around Shawn's throat.

Shawn gagged as his father's breath wafted over him, the stench of stale beer and vomit making his eyes water. Squeezing tighter he tried to crush the life from Shawn, screaming at him.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU STUPID KRAUT BASTARD. I'LL KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID TO MY FRIENDS."

Shawn struggled and scratched at his father's massive hands but already he could see his vision greying out as the blood pounded in his ears. Suddenly he heard Andrew let out a cry of rage, kicking their father and sending him flying into the cabinets.

"What the hell is wrong with you I have had it with you. I'm calling the police, they are going to drag your sorry ass out of here." said Andrew, quickly leaving the kitchen.

Their father staggered to his feet, reaching down to his belt he pulled out an old combat knife. Tossing the rusty blade back and forth between his meaty hands, Shawn yelled at him to stop. Swinging the six inch blade before him he advanced towards Shawn, who had his back against the kitchen window.

He screamed and raised his arms to protect himself, screaming again as he felt the sharp bite of the blade as it sliced into his arm sending up a spray of blood.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ARE YOU INSANE?" screamed Andrew as he raced back into the kitchen.

His father raised the blade again and slashed it across Andrew's face, cutting a huge gash from over his left eye down under his left. Blood sprayed from the wound and Andrew cried out in pain. Bringing his hands up to his face he stumbled back, their father turned his attention back to Shawn.

Raising the knife again, now dripping in blood, he advanced on Shawn. With a cry of rage Andrew smashed one of the kitchen chairs into his father's back, sending the old man crashing to the floor in a shower of splintered wood. Leaping atop him he began pounding away at his father's face. Letting all of his rage and anger flow out, screaming as Shawn screamed for him to stop.

With a cry like a beast their father, face nothing but a swollen, bloody pulp, heaved Andrew off him. Grabbing Shawn around the throat he began chocking him and screaming.

"WAKE UP SHAWN WAKE UP!"

Shawn screamed as he was yanked from the dream, still screaming he saw that Andrew had jumped into his bunk and was shaking him trying to wake him. Shawn stopped screaming, chest heaving he began to sob pushing Andrew away from him he curled into a ball on his bunk, tears streaming down his face as images of the memory flashed in his mind.

Andrew's concern soon returned to anger and he stormed off back to his bunk remember why he was there in the first place. Rolling over he tried to block out the sound of Shawn's crying as he felt his own anger and sadness bubbling just beneath the surface. Slowly he drifted off to sleep slowly running a finger down the jagged scar that marred his face, remembering how he had gotten it, remembering the day he had nearly killed his father.

Andrew knew that if the police had not arrived after he had pulled his father off Shawn the second time he would have killed him. The police had rushed in and cuffed their father, remaining only to question them. They did not wait for their father to return from jail. That night they packed up all of their things and left. Heading to the big city one of their aunts took them in. They had stayed with her until the start of the war, seeing it as an opportunity to escape their life of boredom. And also to prove to everyone that they were tougher than their father, that they could handle what he couldn't.

Slowly as he drifted back to sleep he wondered if joining the RCAF had been such a good idea.

***

"SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE, ALL PILOTS TO YOUR PLANES. THIS IS NOT A DRILL I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL. SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE." the base commander ordered over the air field PA.

Leaping out of his bunk, Shawn and the rest of the wing raced to put on their flight suits before rushing out the door towards the hangers. Running across the moonlight runway they could hear the air raid sirens. Starting as a low moan they rose in pitch to a wailing scream only to descend once more into a moan. Rising again, the wail sounded as though the city itself was crying out in terror and fear at what was to come.

Over the wail of the air raid sirens they could hear the low ominous drone of the German bombers. Hundreds of big metal beasts flying towards the city, bombs cradled in their great bellies ready to be release. Their twin engines rumbling, pulling them through the air.

The wing's Spitfires were fuelled, armed, and ready to take off; standing beside each was a member of the ground crew holding a parachute pack for each of them. Shawn did a quick tour of his Spitfire Mk XII, running a hand around the massive elliptical wings and down the fuselage. Passing a hand over the large letters denoting his squadron, checking each aileron and flap, careful to avoid the spinning prop attached to the rumbling Rolls Royce Griffon engine. The fuselage and tops of the wings were covered by a camouflaged patterned, designed to make the plane much more difficult to see from above. Ducking under to check the landing gear he saw the belly of the craft had be given a fresh coat of sky blue, once again trying to make it harder to see.

Satisfied he climbed up and into the cockpit, strapping himself in tight before pulling the large bubbled canopy over himself. To either side of him he could see his squad mates doing the same. Across the field the rest of the wing was also prepping, tonight they were joined by a wing of Hawker Hurricanes. It would be the job of the Hurricanes to shoot down the German bombers while the Spitfires took care of their escort of German fighters.

Quickly following Ace, he taxied his plane out onto the runway. This was no easy task, because of its design, the nose of the Spitfire was pointed up high and kept the field obscured until they reached take off speed. Pushing the throttle he felt the plane leaping forward as if eager to take to the skies, to fly and be free once more.

"WOOHOOHOOHOO," he yelled over the roar of the engine as the plane rocketed into the sky. Pulling into formation, he heard a crackle then a voice over the squadron's com frequency.

"Shawn how many times do I have to tell you tactical chatter only. You are a pilot flying into battle, NOT A CIVILIAN GOING OUT FOR A JOY RIDE. Now shut up and concentrate on spotting Jerry before he see us." yelled Ace.

Off in the distance he could see search lights piecing dark moonlit skies in their frantic search for the bombers and their deadly payload. As each search light found a target the AA guns around it opened up, each outlined by a blinding muzzle flash followed by an explosion ripping through the bomber formation. Even as he watched he could see bombers being ripped apart, either exploding outright or dropping from the sky, engines ablaze. Yet the German pilots were determined, and for each bomber that was shot down, dozens more made it through the wall of flak to drop their bombs on the city.

The squadron circled the air field unable to do anything but watch helpless as the Germans bombed the city. With so much flak in the air it would be suicide to do anything until the bombers began making their return trip.

As the last of the bombs fell the squadrons few fast and hard, climbing as they went chasing the retreating Germans bombers, determined to exact revenge. The wings split, the Spitfires flying higher still keeping an eye out for the German fighter escort. The Hurricanes flew, engines roaring and guns blazing into the bomber formations. As the first tracers from the Hurricanes slashed into the bomber formation, the turrets on the bombers swivelled around returning fire despite to hold off the fighters.

Shouts of excitement and exuberation filled the com as the Hurricane pilots downed more and more German bombers. Blowing huge holes in them, tearing off wings as engines exploded and their crews jumped from their burning crafts. However, the bombers did not fall alone; many Hurricanes were shot from the skies by the hundreds of guns on the bombers.

As the Hurricanes dove and weaved through the bombers, the German fighters in their boxy ME-109s descended upon them. Screaming from the heavens the fighters flew at the Hurricanes like metal skinned dragons, the pilots their riders. Like fire from a dragon's maw the Germans opened up with their guns. Tracers, like tongues of flame, flew towards the Hurricanes who ducked and zigzagged through the air to avoid the flaming death.

Some were not quick enough and Shawn watched as two Hurricanes went down, the tail end of one shot away while the engine of the other burned. He watched as both pilots leapt from their stricken craft, falling away from the battle raging above, they pulled their chutes, drifting slowly back towards the ground away from the chaos above.

"DEFEND THE HURRICANES," shouted Ace over the com.

Feeling adrenaline pumping through him, Shawn slammed the throttle forward, engine roaring like a Gryphon. The Spitfire leapt through the air towards the Germans. Enemy fighters scattered attempting to out manoeuvre the Canadian pilots and their Spitfires. They continued to case the Hurricanes through the bomber formation. As more and more bombers dropped from the sky, so too did more Hurricanes.

Coming out of a steep climb, Shawn descended in to the swirling madness below; a Hurricane raced beneath him as is pilot weaved desperately back and forth attempting to throw off the German chasing him. Flying through the wall of lead and torn metal, Shawn opened up with his fifty calibre machine guns on the German fighter. In twin rows the metal of the fuselage before the cockpit pealed back as the bullets impacted. With horrifying swiftness they impacted the glass canopy; Shawn saw an explosion within the cockpit, the remaining glass painted red.

He grinned, one more iron cross to paint on the side of his plane, adding to the growing tally each representing a plane he had shot down.

"Could use a little help here," said Andrew in a panicked tone.

Shawn felt cold fear as he looked into the thicket of bombers; Andrew flew his plane, engine burning, between two bombers desperately trying to shake of not one but two German fighters chasing him. As Andrew flew between the bombers they opened up with their guns, tearing jagged lines down the side of his stricken craft.

As he watched the two Germans opened up tearing into the wings of Andrew's plane. The canopy of Andrew's plane shattered, Shawn could hear Andrew scream as he was doused in burring oil from the engine. The Spitfire shook and bucked violently as the Germans continued their assault on the stricken craft. Suddenly, Andrew's screams of terror and pain were cut short as his plane exploded in a great fire ball. Both Germans veered off, pumping their fists in the air and flashing each other thumbs up.

The explosion rocked the two bombers peppering them with shrapnel and gore from the plane. Shawn watched the flames dissipate and the remains of his twin fall to earth, he was numb. He had seen many pilots, many close friends die, but none had been as close to him as Andrew, not just his brother, but his twin.

Yes they fought on occasion, but the war was getting to the both of them and each had taken to drinking between sorties. His chest tightened and his breath came in quick gasps, his body felt numb. He felt a lump forming in his throat and tears prick his eyes, closing his eyes all he could see was the explosion of Andrew's plane.

"No" he cried quietly. Andrew's final screams still ringing in his ears.

Suddenly, Shawn was shaken out of his horror by a hail of bullets impacting his plane. A German plane roared over his plane, its guns blazing.

Something in his mind snapped, he felt a cold emptiness flow through his body. All emotions drained, save one. He screamed in rage, eyes bulging, as his blood boiling with furry he slammed the throttle forward. Leaping towards the ME-109 he let loose another roar of anger as he squeezed the triggers of his fifty calibre machine guns. Great tongues of searing flame shot from the guns, a torrent of bullets flew towards the German fighter. Slashing through the engine block the bullets penetrated the vitals of the craft and with a massive fire ball the plane exploded.

Flying through the cloud of fire and debris Shawn screamed again, his rage building as he watched yet more Hurricanes get shot down along with another Spitfire from his squadron. Ripping back on the controls, his plane flipped over and around. A Hurricane passed before him followed by a German fighter. Opening up with his guns he tore at the ME-109, as he watched the wing of the fighter disintegrate under the barrage. The wing sheared away and the German pilot leapt from his stricken craft.

He saw the German reaching for his parachute; Shawn would not let him escape. Mind clouded with rage Shawn opened up again, this time on the pilot himself. Much as the wing had disintegrated under the bullets so too did the pilot.

Flying through the red mist, all that remained of the pilot, Shawn screamed in righteous fury. Speeding through the bomber formation one of the Ju-88s opened up on him with its guns. Swinging the stick first to the left then hard to the right, Shawn flew his plane with one wing pointed towards the sky the other to the ground. Opening up with his guns, he walked the shells down the side of the bomber. He watched as the gunners pitched back from their gun mounts as more shells set the engine aflame.

Shouting in triumph he pumped his fist in the air as the bomber tumbled from the sky. Suddenly a German fighter dropped from above raining death and destruction upon him. Bullets tore at his engine shaking him from his grief induced rage. He dove and weaved as a fuel line snapped and burning oil sprayed the canopy of his plane.

Hearing an explosion he looked back to see the German fighter nothing more than a fireball and expanding field of debris. Ace flew passed him shouting into the coms.

"We've almost got them keep fighting!"

Over the sounds of guns blazing and engines roaring came the sound of rolling thunder, as a jagged bolt of lightning arced across the sky. Wind buffeted the planes as they dove and weaved between the jagged bolts of lightning that speared from the skies.

As he shot down another German fighter and looked around for another target, the storm grew in intensity. More and more lighting shot from the clouds, a few nearly struck his plane. Engine still burning Shawn refused to return to base, determined to avenge his brother.

Flying back and forth through the storm clouds his plane was struck with a massive bolt of lightning. The entire plane jerked and twitched in the air at such harsh treatment, another German fighter screamed from out of the clouds letting loose a burst of its guns. Tearing great holes in his wing, the plane began to fight against him as he struggled to chase after the enemy fighter. Another bolt of lightning struck his plane, nearly blinding him.

Looking around he realized he was beginning to lose sight of the other planes, not because of the darkness of the night or clouds. The planes themselves began to seem faded and distant. Lightning flashed nearly blinding him, suddenly another bolt impacted his plane making it shake and vibrate. More and more lightning began impacting his plane, he screamed as the plane fought against him. Flying up into the clouds he tried desperately to get above the storm and the insane lightning that seemed to be targeting his plane.

Flying through the cloud it seemed to open up before him like a tunnel, lightning flashed and slammed into his plane as it danced around the tunnel. With each bolt of lightning he felt his plane jump forward. To his horror he watched as the speedometer showed him going faster than he was ever told the plane could go, surely it would be ripped apart.

At the end of the tunnel a veritable wall of lightning blocked his path, he screamed as his plane flew through it.

Suddenly the radio went dead, no sound except static and fuzz was coming through. It was as if no one was there to send a signal, feeling his plane vibrate as more and more lightning struck his plane he watched in horror and confusion as he watched the speedometer continued to climb. He heard a noise light a peal of thunder but louder, like a screaming boom, suddenly his plane shot forward faster than he ever thought possible.

It got harder and hard to breathe and he could feel blood pooling in his legs from the extreme Gs. Feeling himself blacking out pressed against his seat he wondered what could possibly have happened and what was going to happen. The lightning began to grown brighter as he lost consciousness, just as he faded out there was a bright blue flash then everything went dark as he lost consciousness.

As he passed out the storm slowly calmed, lightning still arching around the tunnel but none struck his burning plane. Flying faster and faster the plane shot forward, had he been conscious Shawn would have seen his plane fly through a shimmering wall of blue lightning at the end of the tunnel.