Germany, 1945.

George and his pal, Perconte, had found themselves a barn. In hopes of finding eggs, they walk right into the barn without permission from its owners.

“I swear if this thing bites me I’ll shoot it.” George said, scowling, as he held a chicken in his arms, while Perconte collected the eggs.

Suddenly, the door to the bar opened and you walked in.

“Guten Tag, Fräulein.” George grinned, dropping the chicken at the sight of you.