The Mission
In early 1942, Bob Burns was reassigned from Panama to Guatemala City, where one bomb squadron was flying patrols out to the Galapagos Islands. The mission: protect shipping lanes along Central America's Pacific coast from Japanese submarines.
These weren't the glamorous missions that made headlines. They were grinding, exhausting flights over open ocean—7 to 8 hours each way—in an era before modern navigation aids, autopilots, or search radar. The B-17s flew at 1,500 feet above the water. There were no navigators aboard. No bombardiers. Just pilots who had to find a tiny archipelago 600+ miles from the coast, using nothing but time, distance, and visual estimation of wind.
From Bob's Morning Report, July 2003:
"Sue thought that I should expand a bit on the Guatemala-Galapagos experience, so I will."
Navigation by Whitecaps
"To keep my promotions in order, I mention that I was promoted to Captain about the time I arrived in Guatemala. And as I have told you, we had no navigators or bombardiers at the time, And, as I recall, the flying time to the Galapagos was about 7-8 hours."
Each pilot knew his course and a no-wind time to destination. But wind is everything over open ocean. Miss your heading by a few degrees, and you could fly past the islands entirely—into the vastness of the Pacific with no landmarks and limited fuel.
Bob's solution: read the ocean surface.
"And since we were flying at about 1,500 feet above the ocean, there were no strong winds to be encountered. And I don't recall that there were any fronts or tropical storms that came our way. So all I had to do was scan the water to see the wind streaks and white caps."
Wind streaks on the water showed direction. Whitecaps showed velocity. And crucially, whitecaps stream back into the wind—giving a precise compass heading to the source.
"The streaks gave you a wind indication but the size of the white caps gave a close idea of the wind velocity and the fact that white caps stream back into the wind, gave you a close reading of the wind direction. Crude as this methodology was, to my knowledge, only one crew missed landfall and was not heard of again. In retrospect, this was close to a miracle."
The Routine
The operation wasn't just the flight—it was the complete turn-around at a forward airstrip carved out of the island with no infrastructure.
"I also have to add that an airstrip had to carved out on the island and all support had to be brought from Panama. I can only presume that no radio aids were available on the Island but there were none during my time."
The pattern: fly out, refuel the airplane, do minor maintenance, eat a simple supper, sleep. Morning: breakfast, then takeoffs at 15-20 minute intervals for the return to Guatemala.
"The routine was to make the run out, refuel the airplane, do any minor maintenance, have a simple supper and sleep a while. With morning, there was a breakfast and takeoffs at 15 or 20 minute intervals for the return This will give you a feel of how I amassed B-17 flying time way beyond the normal. In fact, I had more time in the airplane than all the Hqs. staff combined. I suspect that this is why Hatcher deferred to me on any flying matter."
The Forgotten Front
While B-17s over Germany would later dominate headlines, these patrols were flying in anonymity—protecting vital shipping lanes that kept the war effort supplied. Another squadron operated from Salinas, Ecuador, covering the other half of the approaches to the canal.
The Galapagos missions gave Bob something invaluable: hundreds of hours of first-pilot time in a B-17, more than almost anyone in the theater. When he joined the forming 351st Bomb Group at Geiger Field in November 1942, that experience made him the natural choice as Air Executive—second in command of the entire group.
"In fact, I had more time in the airplane than all the Hqs. staff combined. I suspect that this is why Hatcher deferred to me on any flying matter."
To the end of his life, Bob marveled at the improvisation of those days—flying multi-hour overwater navigation missions with no instruments, no radio aids, just time and whitecaps. Only one crew was lost. In retrospect, he said, it was "close to a miracle."