10 All was lost, thought Bea, arms on her head, hands clasped; Gwafa stood next to her, proud and unflinching, uniform filthy. From engines start-up at the mosque, only forty-two minutes had elapsed. Tiger 103 arrived bathed in a dust cloud. Two squads of accompanying Germans pitched sand on the burning 101 with their entrenching tools, finally extinguishing the fire, but much damage had been done. The angry officer called on the radio for a tank transporter and halftrack. The Italian officer had Takuta placed between two of his troops on rifles between them as a stretcher. He bled badly, and they pressed old-looking cotton bandages to his wounds. A stout German oberleutnant gave orders in Italian for them to take the prisoners back to headquarters for questioning. He looked at Beashe was dusty, greasy, sweaty, and stained with Takutas blood. He vigorously fingered her tatty, ripped tan tunic, belt frayed and many buttons missing, the WAAF rank cuff insignia barely visible through the dirt. Scheisse in Brandl Ein schmutzige Frau und ein stinkender Schwarzer… He grabbed her hair and pitched her to the ground. Another German hit Gwafa in the chest with his rifle butt, Gwafa fell to his knees, breathless. She ever-so-slowly saluted in British fashion, palm outwards. Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant, a filthy British woman and a stinking French darkie, their shit indeed on fire. Remember this day, old chap, remember, she said in authoritative German. And dont forget the Maori. As the days sun grew stronger, Bea and Gwafa grew weak as they marched. An Italian soldier gave them both sips of his water. After an hour or so they stopped at a canteen to have lunch with the Italians. A medic tended to Takuta as best he could. Wine and water were passed, and hot macaroni with olive oil and garlic eaten. Starving, Bea and Gwafa ate, but both had no real taste for it. She thought it odd how cordial the Italians were, and she smoked an offered cigarette. Speaking German, she and a