From the novel: Hunt of the Sea Wolves, chapter 23, page 80
By four o’clock in the morning the typhoon had subsided somewhat, but the wind was still blowing across the deck at more than seventy miles per hour, category one level. Only on a ship the size of the Bonhomme Richard would a seaman consider the waves tolerable. Sailors hurried to check the chains that secured the thirty helicopters and eight Harrier II aircraft.
Their Ch-46 medium assault helicopter was warmed up and the teams hurried across the deck to climb aboard. Carrying only their weapons and backpacks this time, the going was much easier than it had the day before going down into the ship and they made their way up the ramp to the helo.
“The storm picked up speed during the night,” Parris shouted over the noise to Roy. “Our window is down to half an hour.”
“We won’t make it to the LZ in time,”
Parris handed Roy a piece of paper. On it were a set of GPS coordinance.
“Our inside man will leave info there on where the camp is,” he said. “They move around between several camps every day or so, so he won’t know the present location until the last minute.”
The helo pilot received the all clear signal from the yellow-shirted aircraft handling officer and pulled back on the stick as the craft lifted off and banked left over the frothy sea. They were now flying at one hundred sixty miles per hour in the eye of the storm and the sky above was a brilliant blue, but dark thunderheads loomed just a few miles in every direction around the helo. The helo immediately dropped out of sight as it skimmed only a few feet above the crashing waves and raced toward an, as yet, unseen island over the horizon in an attempt to beat the storm.
They didn’t make it.