Continuity: During Against All Odds (series 7 ep 1)

Song –

Comment- Completely original. Love the stories/ poetry written during WW1. Almost like a dream sequence.

The trenches. A lonely place. Full of anticipation. Full of fear. Unbearable suspense, knowing if you go over the top, you may never be the same again. Dodging anything that might lie in your path. Rescuing your stranded comrade, only finding they're rooted. Unable to move. Deafened to all the chaos around them.

The battlefield was becoming crowded now. Full of people, none of whom she knew, or recognised.

Waiting nervously for instructions. Only the deafness prevented her from hearing, and fully understanding.

She was going in unarmed. Nothing.

He hadn't emerged. Popped his head out, but nothing. Leaving her to wander alone, through the carnage.

Rest was a long way off. Proper rest, that is. Salvation. Never a resolution.

Never the closure she so desperately searched for.

The dust had yet to settle. The serenity of No man's land looking tempting. She knew what it meant if she was to cross the line.

There may not be a way back.

But she wasn't there yet. If ever.

There was a storm brewing. The sky getting angrier and angrier. The fighting continuing, with no victory in sight. Armistice day was a long way off.

Yet he hadn't launched himself. Actions, he thought could cure everything, but, to her, were meaningless.

The talks were slowly failing. She wanted one thing, which was peace, and, on the other side, was Gordon, planning his next move.

Suffocating in his words, she retreated. Back to the border, where it was considered safe.

Waiting for someone to save her. Yet the chaos surrounding her was choking her. The constant barrage. The threat of enemy fire was all too frightening. The possibility of getting shot down. There may not be a way back from that.

She tried hard to not let her weakness show. Weak people were open to attack. Weak people were discarded.

Only the strong remained. They kept going. Kept fighting and lived to see another day. The weak ones fell. Sometimes spectacularly.

She still stood there, rooted to the spot. Waiting for him to save her. Waiting for someone. Anyone.

She watched as the sky turned black, and rain began falling heavily, littering the battlefields with small puddles, some forming to make lakes, rivers.

Yet still she stood, silent, rooted. Waiting. Drowning.

No man's land was a lonely place, having claimed so many victims before.