The Leader looked out over the desert. It was very hot, and his broadrimmed hat, for which he was famous for wearing on all family vacations, unless he forgot to, didn't cut it much.

"It's hot." Mr. S. Airedale commented, mopping his face with a handkerchief he had pulled out of his pack.

"Stupid comment." Mme. K. Von S. said, idly brushing her hair away from her glistening face.

"We wouldn't be here if you, Great Leader, hadn't insulted Hamurabi the cook."

"How so?" the Leader asked glancing over the horizon.

"You called him 'Hambone.' We warned you it wouldn't end well."

"Insulting the cook is never a good idea." Mr. S. Airedate added mournfully.

"So why does calling a cook, 'Hambone' insult him? It's a food item, isn't it. And he didn't seem to mind...."

"He's Muslim, and pork products are unclean."

"Yes?"

Far off in the distance came the rumbling of heavy armor.

"This is going to get very interesting..." Mr. S. Airedale said, looking for cover that just wasn't there.

From behind them, away from the armor, which now appeared on the dune ahead of them came a rocket. Instinctively they all prostated themselves on the hot sand. It missed the lead tank and blew up a dozen meters of sand, sending up a plume of smoke and sand into the air.

The tanks responded, firing over over their heads. More rockets were fired, and the tanks responded.

"We're in the middle of a battle!" the Leader shouted over the din.