The once robust yet now aging and bitter shipyard director shook his head ruefully.
Though only thirty percent of the engineering work was left, constructing a warship was not as simple as building a ship. It was a complex system with a multitude of related factories providing support. And now... all those factories had been abandoned and left to ruin.
"It can't be done," he muttered in absolute sorrow and despair.
The silence that followed was deadening. As Makarov lifted his grief-stricken gaze, he caught a glimpse of Ilyukin's smirking face. The sight of that merchant's smirk filled the old man with so much outrage that he lost control. Waving his arms frantically, his furious howls echoed in the desolate dilapidated shipyard.
"The great Ivan the First! The incorruptible officers! The naval supervisors who don't embezzle military funds for their private mansions! The unbiased Duma! And the naval officers who refuse to kowtow to foreigners!"
