7628. Until their differences are settled, Foch and Charles De Gaulle are not allowed in the same port.
7628a. Yes, this does have something to do with the De Gaulle sounding off her foghorns repeatedly.

Toulon

It was a quiet morning in Toulon. Not counting Force de Raid and Force de Aviation, the only people on the base aside from the staff was Graf Zeppelin, Scharnhorst, and Gneisenau. They were on a layover from an Irish Sea patrol, and all three hoped for a little time to relax before returning to Wilhelmshaven.

Of course, someone else had other ideas.

All three jumped as the relatively quiet harbor was shattered by a combination of shouting and foghorns.

"Was zum Teufel?!" asked Gneisenau.

"My ears!" groaned Graf.

"Who's making that racket?" said Scharnhorst.

"Relax, it's just Foch and de Gaulle having another shouting match." said Duquesne, shouting to be heard over the din. "See?"

Following her gaze, the three Kanmusu saw a woman standing on one of the piers, shouting at the top of her lungs in French to where the Charles De Gaulle, just returned from a six month deployment in the Mid-Atlantic, was moored.

The carrier seemed to wait for the woman to finish her tirade before giving another loud blast from the horn.

"Could someone please shut them up?" groaned Scharnhorst. "I think my ears are bleeding."

"Don't worry." answered Duquesne. "Clemenceau will break them up shortly. Ah, here she comes."

Sure enough, another woman walked up behind Foch and grabbed her, carrying her back to shore while she hurled more insults at the de Gaulle.

"Hey, isn't that Admiral Masson?" asked Graf, pointing to another woman entering the barracks behind the two Kanmusu.

"Oh, dear." said Duquesne. "She looks pissed."

Two hours later...

Admiral Masson sighed as she left the barracks, wondering what she was going to do with Foch. She was desperately needed to help guard the convoys, especially since the Abyssals had deployed E.560's from somewhere in the GIUK Gap, but she couldn't start an argument with the De Gaulle every she put in. Her phone line was jammed up with people filing noise complaints, Admiral Trigette was telling her to get her shipgirl under control and stop her from insulting his ship, and finally, someone from Paris was still breathing down her neck from the last argument six months ago. To make matters worse, she still didn't know why Foch was arguing with the De Gaulle. Granted, the younger Clemenceau's temper ran hotter than her sister's, but something about the De Gaulle made her lose it every time. Which was why Clemenceau was following her back to her office.

"Clem," she began when they sat down. "you said last time this happened you would handle things between Foch and De Gaulle, yet here we are again."

"I know, Admiral." said Clemenceau softly. "And that's my fault. I thought Foch was going to be fine while Charlie was back home, but when we went to get breakfast she ran to the pier."

Masson sighed, rubbing her temple. "I know you said you didn't really want to tell me why those two were arguing last time, but I need to know. This can't keep going on."

"Very well." said Clemenceau. "You do know that before Charlie was built, me and Foch were the core of the Marine National, right?"

"Yes, why?"

"Back in the early eighties, both me and Foch heard rumors about the Admiralty building a new carrier to replace us. By the time Desert Storm came and went, we both realized that it wouldn't be too long before Charlie was finished."

"And that didn't go over too well with Foch?"

"Not at first. You can imagine what happened. My sister, standing at the foot of her flight deck, screaming and raving about how much life me and her still had left in us when the only one who could hear her was me. Yes, she wasn't happy. But, towards the end of the decade, the two of us had come to terms with our eventual retirement. After all, we had both lived long, good lives. We'd kept France safe for a little over three decades, and we were ready to pass on the torch to Charlie when she was ready."

"Then, what happened?" asked Masson, puzzled.

"One of the reasons why we'd come to terms with retirement was that we felt that we'd go together. Sure, one of us might last a few more months in service until Charlie was fully operational, but the two of us planned that we'd finish our lives together, first in mothballs, than at a shipbreaker somewhere. We both could live with that. But then, after we were retired, Brazil bought Foch, and used me as spares. While it hurt me that I was leaving my little sister alone in the world, it destroyed Foch. When they came for me, the last thing I heard was her, crying, begging them not to separate us."

"And Foch is holding a grudge against Charles De Gaulle." guessed Masson.

"Yes." said Clemenceau. "The vast majority of those who authorized her transfer to Brazil are either dead or retired, and even though Charlie was, is, still just a steel hull, with no say in whatever happened to us, she makes a good scapegoat for Foch."

"Have you tried getting the two to sit down and talk it out?" asked Masson.

"More than I can count." sighed Clemenceau. "Hell, the last argument the two had started with them trying to bury the hatchet. At this point, the only idea I have left is to separate them. Completely. And it's not like that's gong to solve the problem."

"But, it may give them both time to cool off. You sister still likes Britain, right?" asked Masson, an idea coming to mind.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Admiral Graham's trying to summon the carriers that the RN wanted back in the sixties. If he's successful, they're going to need someone to train them."

'You want to send my sister to the British?"

"Only temporarily. A few months if Graham isn't successful, and if he his, she stays until they're ready. It'll give her time to cool off, and since she'd only be in Portsmouth, you'll be able to talk to her about her problem with De Gaulle."

At Clemenceau's expression, she added. "You said it yourself, the only idea you have left is to separate the two. At the very least it will get all of the people with noise complaints off our backs."

Clemenceau looked thoughtful. "At this point, I really don't see another option. I'll tell Foch, and while she's at Portsmouth I'll try and convince her to bury the hatchet with Charlie."

"Good. I'll cal Graham and set it up."