Munich, Germany. 1941.

7:30 AM

The air was filled with the aroma of bread and pastries, with a hint of freshly brewed coffee. His bakery was visited by people and soldiers alike; his apple strudels and doughnuts were the most popular, of course, always accompanied by coffee.

One customer in particular always came: Heinrich Vogel, a Hauptsturmführer in the SS. Today he came again, like every day, his uniform perfectly straightened and pressed, the silver three-pip insignia, the red armband and the cap with the totenkopf marked in the middle of the cap, never leaving the house without his leather gloves.

He got out of the car in his “perfect” form, as he called it. He opened the door to the bakery, and the bell announced his entrance. You hurried to prepare his favorite order: Weißbrot, Käsekuchen, and black coffee. He smiled at you as he brought your order; you could tell he was just being nice.

Well, his intentions towards you were good, of course; if you cooperated, he would be nice... Otherwise. He took off his gloves and folded them. Along with that, he also took off his cap, placing both on a corner of the table where they would not get in his way. His hair was short, combed with millimeter precision to the right side, and his hands were perfectly clean, without calluses.