Leman Russ' face reflected in the windows of the loading dock. Eyes of such a piercing blue they should surely be able to bore their way through the armourglass stared at the act of self-destruction unfolding in the skies below. The functional steelwork of the loading dock extended for kilometres either side of Russ. It possessed nothing so fancy as an observation deck. The window Russ watched from was one of only a handful that pierced the orbital's side. It was small, stretching from the level of a man's waist to just over human head height, meaning the primarch had to stoop to peer out. Grubby with accreted dust, cracked by orbital debris impact, the window was a lone weakness in a wall of adamant. Either side of the primarch long corridors of latticed plasteel led to cavernous hold spaces. From within, autoloaders rumbled without pause, the transfer of mass from dock to ships shaking the superstructure. Shadowy cubic shapes thundered back and forth across the way, relentless as pistons as they ferried munitions, water, food, guns and all the rest of the endless materiel a fleet needed to wage war. Grilles left the orbital's coiled innards open to view, a mess of cables crudely bound by steel bands, hissing pipes, junction boxes, winking lights and ribbed metal organs crenellated like miniature cashes. The grim cybernetic skull of the machina opus glared from every surface. It was an ugly place - brutish, utilitarian, made for the provisioning of battleships - but it would survive Dorn's clearing of the heavens. It had a military application. The glorious skylands did not. There was no room for beauty or comfort on Terra anymore. Anything that did not serve the needs of war was swept away.

Over Lemurya the barques performed their positional dance, lining up with mechanical precision along the lateral and vertical lines of the plate, forming a cross that sectioned it into four quarters. Barrel-shaped tug craft puttered into position around Lemurya's periphery. Fire flashed as tow cannons spat tether harpoons, invisible even to the Wolf King's eyes at that far remove. Glittering storms of metal puffed out from the impact sites. Cables hundreds of metres thick-gleamed like spider silk in the morning.

From the barques came a coordinated twinkling.

Halting metal steps trembled the companionway. The careful placing of a staff upon the plating's open plasteel grid tapped softly.

'Jarl.'

'Kva,' said Russ without looking to see. 'Quiet now. I am thinking.'

'Lord Valdor has come to speak with you.'

'Has he now? He picks his moments, that one.'

'He is in haste, my king.'

'Well, he can wait!' growled Russ. 'He kept me waiting long enough, coming to me now, before I leave. Where was he six months ago? I want to see this.' Russ looked back at his adviser and beckoned. 'Come look. Come see the killing of Uppland.'