"Admiral Roer, we've entered the target system, dropping to realspace travel," announced the duty officer, a spotted leopad that Roer had come to trust implicitly.
        "Very good," rumbled the aging lion.  "Order the fleet to spread out for maximum dispersal of our first bombardment.  After the surface has been flattened we can scan and concentrate our fire on any targets that were able to survive the first round."  And Jaga had warned him that there were places on this strange world that actually could.
        It had taken several months to arrive.  Thunderan ships were some of the sleekest, fastest craft in the galaxy, but the first rule of interstellar combat is 'Space is big'.  Very big.  And communication wasn't any faster than the ships.  He could think of at least two wars that had ended with the fleets destroying each other's home worlds long after a peace treated had been signed.
        And they had only been granted ten ships.  That was plenty, really.  It only took three ships of this class to demolish a planetary ecosystem.  He wondered why Jaga had insisted they send so many.  After all, the mutants were still out there.  Any ship not protecting the shipping lanes or the home world had better damned well be on a vital mission.  But was obliterating a planet no one had even heard of out in the middle of nowhere that didn't even have a space fleet a vital mission?
        "Sir, scanners are dectecting an exodus of ships fleeing the surface.  Their exit vector will take them right past us."
        "Good, hold your fire until they get close.  No use expending energy chasing them down."  He was growing agitated though.  Ships.  Jaga hadn't said anything about ships.  "What are they?" he asked, a slight note of concern in his voice.
        "Preliminary scan shows they're Berbils sir," said the sensorman, a hint of disdain in his voice.
        Admiral Roer's concern vanished.  Everyone knew Berbils.  They were pathetic little things.  They could be found in just about every corner of the galaxy, in little colonies here and there.  No one pretended to understand where they came from, how they thought, or anything about their biology.  What everyone did know was that they were completely harmless.
        "When they pass by blow them out of the sky--"
        "--Sir, communications coming from the planet below!"
        "Put it up, let's see who's trying to talk to us."  Not that it would do any good.  He heard some gasps around the bridge, and when he looked up to the screen his jaw dropped, and he stood up out of his chair.  On the screen was a lion, the spitting image of King Claudis.
        "I am Lion-O, son of Claudis, and Lord of the Thundercats.  Cease your--"
        "Cut that off!" commanded Admiral Roer quickly.  "Jam that!  Make sure it doesn't through to the other ships!"  Jaga had given him explicit instructions.  He was a soldier, after all.  He would follow orders.  Jaga must have a good reason for attacking this planet...that was it.  "It's an illusion, some sort of mind game they are playing on us," the Admiral addressed those on the bridge, who now seemed suddenly uncertain.
        "Admiral Roer is right," chimed in the Duty officer.  "It couldn't be him. Claudis, young Lion-O, and the other nobles were all killed by the mutants during the Great Exodus.  You all have your orders, proceed!"
        The crew were just turning to obey when the warning lights flashed and klaxons sounded.  The sensorman practically yelled over the din.  "Sir, the Lashtail has been hit!  Some energy field from the planet!  She's going down!"
        "What?!  Put it on the screen!"  The screen showed an image of one of the mighty feline battlecruisers.  It was engulfed by what looked like lightning, streaming from the planet below.  And it was being physically dragged down to the surface.  "Zoom in on the point of origin for that beam!"  The view of the screen panned smoothly down to a stormy desert, and a dark pyrimid with four mighty pillars rising from each corner.  The pillars crackled with energy, and it cascaded to a meeting point directly above the pinnacle of the structure, and then streamed into space.  "Target that and take it out before Lashtail is pulled down!" commanded the lion, but the command was never carried out.
        That was when the Berbils opened fire.  Or rather the mutant crews manning the Berbil chassis that had been modified to carry shielded weaponry.  They were dirty cannons, with a very low effective range.  In a fair fight they would be useless.  But this wasn't fair, they were right on top of the feline battle cruisers, firing right down their throats.
        Aged hulls buckled and boiled under the onslaught, exploding outward and blowing shrapnel and unfortunate crewmen out into the void.  Admiral Roer's eyes grew wide as he saw the white hot flowers blossom across the hulls of his ships, peppering his visions with bright glares.  And then the Grimmane, the flagship, took one of those hits to the bridge, and everything around Roer became white for an instant, and then there was nothing.
        "Bring them down," commanded Lion-O on the planet's surface, gesturing to the sky.  They already had one ship in their grasp.  Mumm-Ra was pulling it down, and when it hit the planet it the spot Lion-O had chosen, his ground forces would be ready to over-run it.  The other ships in orbit, and their remains, would suffer the same fate soon enough.
        He smiled to himself.  Between Panthro and the Berbils the damaged ships could be repaired in no time.  And with the mutant crews Monkian and Jackalman had gathered, plus any survivors that Lion-O could convince to join his cause, those ships would have crews.  Now he had a fleet.