I saw Blawat every day but the topic went unmentioned.

  One day he said he had a real story for me.

  After the war, thousands of people were imprisoned.

  Thieves, robbers, con men, looters, killers, war criminals, mainly German and Ukrainian, as well as members of even the most obscure anti-communist organizations, and other political prisoners.

  There was a building complex near the coffee shop that housed the local headquarters of the militia, the Ministry of Public Security, and the courts.

  Each had its own jail and detention facility, and its own execution squad.

  For offenses of a political nature, the death penalty was applied mainly at the headquarters of the Ministry of Public Security.

  Blawat related the story of a particular war criminal scheduled for execution.

  He was an SS man so for sure he honestly earned his penalty of death.

  Knowing in a certain sense he had nothing left to lose, he made a break for it, using a hidden pin to get free from his handcuffs.

  In a second he dispatched the three UB-men escorting him, killing everyone there, including the prosecutor who was present, with an appropriated gun. Seven people in total.

  He acted very quickly and very expertly.

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  In a cap and uniform jacket taken from the largest of the killed, two pistols, a large stock of ammunition as well as a machine gun on his back, he discretely moved through the floor where the UB investigative officers operated.

  All the rooms there were sound-proof to maintain the integrity of the business—torture—inside.

  Knowing the layout of the building excellently, the German, donning a navy blue rimmed UB hat and the UB uniform, did not especially draw attention to himself, entering each successive office easily and closing the door behind him.

  He held a cocked pistol hidden in his right hand behind his back. He’d place the forefinger of his left hand on his lips, signaling to stay quiet.

  He took three steps forward and fired a shot with lightning speed that deposited the bullet exactly between the shocked eyes of the functionary.

  If some interrogation suspect found himself in the room at the time, he told him to lay face down on the floor and stay there.

  Alone he left the office, resolutely closing the door behind him and carefully directing himself to the next one.

  Alas, when he had already gone through twelve offices, he hit the unlucky thirteenth.

  The interrogation of some poor wretch had been taking place for several hours.

  The official even had two assistants. They were just getting to the second hand of the suspect, because in the first all his fingernails had already been torn off.

  Moreso, they had thoroughly broken his finger in many places with the help of a massive post-German oak bureau and its oak drawers.

  Eliminating three UB-men together did not present much of a problem for the quick shooting and accurate German.

  However, afterwards, when the SS-man opened the door to get to the next office, the tortured culprit, instead of politely lying on the ground face down as told, finding himself in a state of total confusion, ran out of the room ahead of the German immediately.

  He managed to let out a horrible, inarticulate noise like a flagellant before being brought down by a bullet.

  Unfortunately, the screams and the shot demasked the German.

  A long battle ensued in the building.

  In the end, he was fatally wounded when the UB-men, losing a few more of their own, used three defensive hand grenades of the type F-1, demolishing almost the entire floor.

  A total fucking mess.