There is one book I try to fastidiously read every Christmas. No, it is not the Bible though there is that whole manger and nativity story going for it along with angels singing and the Messiah.
The book I read is one written by Frederick Forsyth. A man more known for thrillers like The Odessa File and The Day of the Jackal decided to write a story for his wife Carole as a Christmas present. The story is called The Shepherd.
It is Christmas Eve, 1957. At an airfield in Lower Saxony an RAF pilot is taking his Vampire jet fighter across the North Sea to England to be with family for Christmas. All things are beautiful that cold clear Christmas Eve night as he wings his way across Germany, the Low Countries, and finally over the North Sea when disaster strikes and his jet suffers electrical failure. He starts flying triangles of an exact time hoping someone is still manning a radar that can see him and send someone up to help him. Then his eyes catch coming out of the clouds that denies him any sight of beautiful England, an old WWII Mosquito bomber.
I will leave the rest of the story to the true master of telling captivating fiction, the author himself. Go read the book if you have not already or as the title suggests, get a copy for a friend so they can enjoy the story also. It is a very very good story and a proper one for Christmas.