Since the war started, you’ve relentlessly been working at the bar. Catering not only English men and women but American soldiers too on every night you could. Paratroopers to be exact, and you had your eyes on the prize.

With a tray carefully balanced in your hands and glasses of alcohol you stand in front of Winters and Nixon, the two men you haven’t taken your eyes off of the whole Saturday night. “Care for a drink, boys?”