Three days passed for the Sea Fighter Task Force. Three days of sight-seeing temples under tropic skies and drinking beer on the beach at Kuta Bay. Three days of ushering curious Balinese around the decks of the Carlson and the Cunningham. Three days playing the Bahasa Indonesia tour tapes provided by the Department of Defense School of Languages and of answering questions asked in hesitant English. Three days of performing their open mission, showing the flag, and demonstrating America’s military presence on the Pacific Rim.
Three nights as well. Three nights of sitting behind closed-up defenses, watching the dark. Three nights of the Sea Fighters slipping out of the Carlson’s well deck to moan away beyond the Island of Turtles. Three nights of helicopters clattering away into the darkness to skim the wave crests at radar-evading altitudes. Three nights of the same explanation being offered to the port master and Bali ATC. “Units launching to conduct routine training exercises in international waters.”
The Indonesian naval air and surface units that attempted to track the stealthed and evasive Yankees knew this to be a sophistry. Fragmentary fixes and sighting reports indicated the Sea Fighter elements to be plunging deeper into Indonesian territory. Yet, their commanding admiral dared not ask the question “What are the Americans up to?” either to his own government or to the United States. He feared being asked a question in return: “Who asked you to find out?”