At precisely eleven o'clock, the silence was shattered by the thunder of cannon. A salute to the King. Commands rang out sharp and clear: "Larguez les amarres!" Lines were cast off, and the great ships stirred as though awakening from slumber. The gabiers, agile as acrobats, swarmed up the rigging, loosing the heavy sails. White canvas unfurled with a crack and billowed proudly against the azure sky. Slowly, majestically, La Boussole and L'Astrolabe drifted forward, tugged by waiting launches to guide them through the narrow channel of the Goulet.
The crowd roared its acclamations, hats flung high, handkerchiefs fluttering like a field of white blossoms. The cries of "Vive le Roi! Vive Lapérouse!" mingled with the raucous shrieks of gulls circling above. On the dais, the King stood motionless, his gaze fixed upon his departing ships until they dwindled into white specks upon the horizon. The Queen dabbed discreetly at her eyes. At her side, the little Dauphin stood with an air far too grave for his years, his small hand resting upon the railing, his eyes never leaving the distant sea.
Unseen amidst the pomp and spectacle, another drama had already begun. Hidden within the ranks of sailors were men whose presence was unknown even to most of their comrades: operatives of the shadowy Unit 141. Their roles were perfectly assumed—one a master gunner inspecting a powder cartridge with professional calm, another a carpenter testing a line with practiced ease, a third a cook arranging his utensils, an aumônier whispering prayers. Each face was unremarkable, each gesture ordinary. Yet behind their masks of anonymity lay secrets, skills, and missions that would intertwine with Lapérouse's voyage in ways unseen by the public eye. Their operation had commenced not with the roar of cannon, but with the silence of perfect concealment.
The ships moved steadily out of the harbor, past the stone forts of Brest, toward the endless expanse of ocean. The sunlight grew brighter, the breeze fresher. For those left behind, the spectacle ended in a blur of sails upon the horizon. But for those aboard, a journey of years had begun—a journey that would chart unknown coasts, meet strange peoples, record marvels of nature, and test the limits of human endurance.
On the quay, long after the ships had vanished, Louis XVI still stared seaward, his lips moving in silent prayer for their success. At his side, the Dauphin tugged softly at his sleeve and whispered with disarming calm:
"Father, will they find wonders?… but I hope they will beware of storms."
The King smiled faintly, ruffled his son's hair, and said nothing.
The sea had claimed its ships, the world awaited its explorers, and destiny had taken one more step toward the unknown.
The carriage wheels rumbled softly over the cobbled streets of Brittany. The curtains were drawn tight. Inside, silence reigned save for the rhythmic sway of the coach. Opposite the young prince sat his head guard,Jean.
Louis-Joseph broke the quiet first, his tone calm but edged with satisfaction.
"You and your men have done well today," he said, his gaze steady. "The specters were well trained, and not once did I feel them. Unit 141 moves as though it were born of silence itself."
The hardened soldier inclined his head in acknowledgment. Praise from the Dauphin, though given sparingly, was never empty.
"It is an honor, Monseigneur," he replied. Then, after a brief pause, his voice lowered, carrying the weight of unspoken urgency. "There is another matter. Operation Nid de Coucou has completed its first phase. Our eggs are produced. Now the men await your word on the next step."
The Dauphin leaned back, his youthful face lit by the faint glow of the carriage lantern. To most he was a child barely four years of age, but in that gaze, sharpened by another lifetime of knowledge, lay the composure of a strategist. He let the silence linger, forcing the weight of expectation to settle before he spoke.
"Then the time has come for Phase Two," he declared. " We begin infiltration. Let our agents move into the enemy's house, not as strangers, but as family members. Their strength lies in their ignorance—they will not suspect children of the nest already singing within their walls."
The guard captain's jaw tightened, but he nodded. Orders were orders, even if they were spoken with chilling precision from the lips of a boy who should still be learning his letters.
Outside, France stretched endlessly, its people oblivious to the quiet war already blooming. And within the carriage, the Dauphin's eyes narrowed with a resolve far older than his years.
The eggs had been produced. Now they are to be placed in the songbird's nest.