The Horse Adjutant
back looking for their families. I recognized Max Blauner among them. He was in full combat uniform, holding an automatic weapon. The tide completely changed. When he discovered I was in town, he immediately sought me out. We were elated to see each other. Our friendship has lasted a lifetime. After a strong embrace, he looked at me with a serious expression, “Leon, you cannot stay here. The underground is killing Jews. They will not think twice to kill you, too.” Even though I felt safe at the Skrabski’s home, I had to listen to Max’s advice. He con- tinued, “I just came from Lvov. We had a few skirmishes on the way here.” After taking a moment to accept some bread from Tadeusz, he said, “Leon, I am going to take you with me, as soon as I can get a permit from the Russian command. Stay out of sight until I return. When I come back, we are gonna get them. You can help us hunt every one of the bastards down. None of us will rest until they are wiped from the earth.” He was incensed. He just returned home, finding his family gone, just like me, and I still had to tell him about his brother, Moshe. Regretfully, I did. I told him I thought he was gone, but I tried to balance this with some hope by saying, “I saw Roman leave with the whole camp, I think he may be OK.” Max left to get me a permit. He found it in Poznan, Poland, near the border with Germany. It was the same region the bastard, Zimny Mroz, came from. Max had a friend there. A fellow named Mandel Getz, the son of a wealthy family from our home- town that owned the local wood mill. Getz was an officer of the new Poviat Office of Public Security (PUBP), the new Polish-Soviet Security forces tasked with enforcing the Soviet way of life. It infused every part of Polish society from counter-intelligence to fighting bandits, protecting the economy, monitoring religious and political orga- nizations, managing prisons, providing investigations, training, and everything else required to run a government. Things got tough when in 1949, a special bureau was added to investigate the department itself. Years later, the PUBP would become a part of the KGB, the Russian Secret Police. Max came back for me just as he promised. As soon as he returned, we left. I thanked Tadeusz and his family. As I was saying goodbye, impatiently, Max tapped my shoul- der, “Let’s get ’em!” Max was right. The war was just about over, but the underground was dangerous. For many reasons, they did not want the Jews to return; it was still a deadly serious situation. I learned of an incident very close to town, while I was there. A Jewish fam-
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