第 4 章
From Gridiron to Guadalcanal: Athletes at War
While McLaughry navigated the Pacific theater, Schreiner and other college football stars endured the rigors of Marine boot camp at Parris Island. Though he told his parents the training was "wonderful" and "doing me lots of good," he confessed the truth to his sister Betty: "I like it but you sure go thru a lot of hell and many times I have been ready to quit."
The military's relationship with football was complex and strategic. Secretary of the Navy William F. Knox declared before the Touchdown Club that football's physical contact prepared men for the Pacific war's brutal combat requirements. Naval leadership, many former players themselves, deliberately preserved college football through policies that supplied both players and competition. As Wilbur D. Jones noted in his book, the Navy became "the engine of wartime football."
Not everyone agreed with this approach-boxing champion Joseph "Gene" Tunney, serving as the Navy's physical training director, dismissed the football-combat connection as "silly," arguing that actual combat training required "special calisthenics," "road work," and "bayonet drill" rather than sports.
By late 1944, many of these former football stars found themselves on Guadalcanal as part of the newly formed 6th Marine Division, combining the 4th, 22nd, and 29th Regiments with the 15th Artillery Regiment-approximately twenty thousand men designated for the upcoming Battle of Okinawa. Boredom became their greatest enemy as they awaited deployment.
Veterans lived by the "rule of three"-surviving two campaigns meant the third would likely kill you. While experienced Marines knew when to exercise caution in combat, the untested newcomers arrived with youthful swagger, eager for action without understanding war's horrors. These young Marines hadn't yet experienced the gruesome realities: bodies shredded by mortar shells, the smell of burning flesh, or trucks loaded with corpses.
As days passed, many Marines developed the "thousand-yard stare"-blank, deadened eyes like those of sharks. Rumors spread of an upcoming major battle in spring 1945 with potential casualty rates as high as 80 percent during the beach landing alone.
第 5 章
The Mosquito Bowl: One Last Game Before Hell
In this tense waiting period, former collegiate football players from the 29th and 4th Regiments organized the "Mosquito Bowl"-a Christmas Eve football game in 1944. John McLaughry boasted to his father that the 4th Regiment could compete with the NFL champion Chicago Bears. While an exaggeration, combining the football talent of the 4th and 29th Regiments would have created a formidable team.
The 29th Regiment challenged the 4th to a warm-up game in early December, likely as a psychological ploy. Despite McLaughry's hopes to practice, artillery school obligations prevented proper preparation. Nevertheless, the hastily assembled 4th Regiment team managed a surprising 0-0 tie.
The upcoming Mosquito Bowl generated such excitement that the Mosquito Network planned to broadcast it live across Pacific military bases. The 29th regiment organized the event with impressive fanfare, creating a detailed program with player rosters and a schedule of events including regimental bands, ceremonial honors, and the formal meeting of regiment commanders at midfield.
Despite being underdogs with less college experience, the 4th had formidable size, averaging 6'1" and 220 pounds on their front line. McLaughry implemented a strategy of rotating three different teams to combat Guadalcanal's heat and humidity. The 29th countered with impressive depth, featuring college starters even among their reserves.
With $3,000 wagered by officers alone and enlisted men betting up to a month's pay, the Christmas Eve game drew 1,500 spectators. What began as two-handed touch quickly devolved into brutal tackling that left players bloody from coral cuts, torn uniforms, and injuries requiring stitches. After fierce back-and-forth play, the game ended in a fitting 0-0 tie.
Following the game, a Christmas Eve service featured a moving illustration of a kneeling Marine before Mary and Jesus, and Christmas Day brought a feast before training resumed. New Year's Eve celebrations marked the last such holiday for 1,622 members of the 6th Division who would never see another.
第 6 章
Bound for Hell: The Invasion of Okinawa
The 6th Marine Division departed Guadalcanal around March 15, 1944, embarking on what would become one of the Pacific War's most brutal campaigns. While some Marines enjoyed relative comfort aboard combat transports with proper bunks and mess facilities, others endured severely cramped conditions on LST 794, grimly nicknamed "Large Slow Target." These landing ships, designed for vehicles rather than troops, offered little more than metal decks and makeshift accommodations. During the three-week journey, enlisted men finally learned their destination through comprehensive briefings that detailed Okinawa's challenging terrain, indigenous wildlife (including the feared habu snake with its potentially lethal venom), and extensive Japanese defensive positions.
Okinawa-stretching 60 miles long and between 2-18 miles wide with a civilian population of 450,000-represented the ultimate strategic prize in the Pacific campaign. Situated just 476 nautical miles from Japan's home islands, it was closer to Tokyo than Hawaii is to Los Angeles. For American strategists, capturing Okinawa meant securing the perfect launching point for the final invasion of Japan, offering crucial airfields, harbor facilities, and supply bases. For the Japanese high command, prolonging the battle served two critical purposes: buying precious time to fortify their homeland defenses and creating opportunities for their devastating kamikaze aircraft to savage the American fleet.
The massive convoy made a crucial stop at Ulithi Atoll on March 25, where Marines received brief R&R on Mogmog Island. This last taste of relative normalcy included cold beer, impromptu baseball games, and the rare luxury of fried chicken. The respite proved short-lived, as they departed March 27 for the final four-day journey toward combat. During these tense days, Marines like Schreiner wrote carefully worded letters to loved ones, trying to sound confident while masking their fears. He carried Odette's Saint Christopher medal close to his heart, while others sought comfort in prayer, cards, or quiet contemplation of what awaited them.
The Battle of Okinawa commenced precisely at 0406 on April 1, 1945-the irony of April Fool's Day not lost on the men. Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner's historic order, "Land the landing force!" set in motion the largest amphibious assault in the Pacific War. Marines like McLaughry followed time-honored pre-battle rituals, settling debts, writing final letters, and consuming the traditional steak-and-eggs breakfast that might be their last proper meal. Under surprisingly favorable conditions-clear skies and moderate temperatures-waves of landing craft began their carefully choreographed circling maneuvers before approaching the shore.
The pre-invasion naval bombardment was unprecedented in scale and fury-nearly 45,000 shells, 33,000 rockets, and 22,500 mortar rounds pounded the coastline. This awesome display of firepower created what witnesses described as an apocalyptic spectacle, which General Buckner observed from what he called "the fifty-yard line" aboard his command ship. The veteran 4th Marine Regiment landed first, with McLaughry, Schreiner, and Bauman among its ranks, while Butkovich, Murphy and their comrades from the 29th Regiment remained in reserve offshore, tensely awaiting their turn to join what would become one of the bloodiest battles in Marine Corps history.
第 7 章
Sugar Loaf Hill: Where Football Players Became Casualties
The landing was met with bewildering absence of resistance. Marines found themselves wading ashore to virtually no opposition, with some even holding Easter picnics or reading comic books on the beach. Intelligence had failed to predict the Japanese strategic shift to total concealment rather than beach defense.
This easy beginning proved deceptive. By mid-April, they finally encountered the enemy they'd sensed was there all along. The Japanese, under Takehido Udo, had established sophisticated positions on Mount Yaetake with excellent communications systems, mountain-adapted equipment, and concealed artillery. Their defensive style-hiding their dead, vanishing after firing, and fighting from caves-gave Marines a preview of the bloodbath to come.
The true test came at Sugar Loaf Hill, a seemingly insignificant 50-foot high mound that became the site of some of the most brutal fighting on Okinawa. The hill was part of a deadly triangular complex with Horseshoe and Half Moon hills that created interlocking fields of fire-attack one hill and face devastating fire from the other two. The Japanese defense was masterfully constructed with hidden tunnels, camouflaged machine gun nests, and precise artillery support.
The human toll was catastrophic. So many officers and enlisted men were killed that companies were depleted, with inexperienced replacements thrown into battle alongside veterans who scorned them. None of the Mosquito Bowl players would ever be the same after this fighting.
George Murphy, a modest Notre Dame football captain who had never seen his eight-month-old daughter Mary Grace, was ordered to take Sugar Loaf on May 15th. When his platoon was being decimated, Murphy requested permission to withdraw but was denied with orders to hold "at all costs." He covered his men's retreat while helping drag a wounded machine gunner when he was killed by a mortar shell or shot in the face. Murphy became the fourth Mosquito Bowl player to die in combat.
During the seven-day siege to gain just 520 yards, the 6th Marine Division would suffer 2,662 casualties. The Marines renamed Sugar Loaf "This piece of shit" as they witnessed unimaginable horrors-dismembered bodies, men burning alive in tanks, and the endless swarms of maggots in festering wounds.
第 8 章
The Final Toll: Counting the Cost of Victory
After seventy days of relentless combat, Japanese forces were hemorrhaging approximately a thousand soldiers daily and their defensive capabilities had crumbled. Their once-formidable positions in the Shuri Line and southern strongholds had been reduced to scattered pockets of resistance. On June 10th, General Simon Bolivar Buckner made an unprecedented humanitarian gesture by writing directly to General Mitsuru Ushijima, suggesting honorable capitulation to prevent further bloodshed. This rare communication between opposing commanders reflected the devastating toll the battle had taken. When presented with the letter, the Japanese commander merely offered a knowing smile - a response that embodied the unwavering Japanese military doctrine of fighting to the last man. Ushijima's silent refusal confirmed that every soldier under his command would embrace death before surrender.
On June 18th, with American forces poised for final victory, General Buckner made a fateful decision to visit a forward observation post, despite numerous warnings from his staff about enemy artillery fire in the area. The position, located near the front lines, offered a clear view of the remaining Japanese defenses. After spending roughly an hour observing the battlefield, at precisely 1:15 p.m., five rounds of Japanese artillery found their mark. Buckner was struck by a lethal combination of coral fragments and metal shrapnel that tore through his left chest cavity. His death marked him as the highest-ranking American officer killed by enemy fire during World War II, a distinction that underscored the battle's ferocity even in its final days.
On June 21, 1945 - the very same day Okinawa was officially declared secure - former Wisconsin football star Dave Schreiner met his end from a sniper's bullet to the chest. After surviving eighty-one grueling days of combat, including some of the battle's most intense fighting, Schreiner fell just hours before the island was declared secure. He was laid to rest in 6th Marine Division Cemetery No. 1, Grave 789, Row 32, Plot A, one of thousands of young Americans who would never return home. At just twenty-four years old, Schreiner became the fifteenth player from the historic Mosquito Bowl to sacrifice his life for his country.
That same night, around 11:00 p.m., Captain John McLaughry faced one of the battle's final engagements. While in a bivouac position behind the lines, a trip flare's sudden illumination signaled Japanese infiltrators attempting to breach American positions. McLaughry quickly assembled a small team of three volunteers to investigate the disturbance. In his haste, he grabbed his .45-caliber pistol holster but made a potentially fatal error - the weapon itself remained in a radio jeep where he'd left it after cleaning.
The small patrol advanced cautiously through the darkness for about twenty-five yards before suddenly encountering five or six heavily armed Japanese soldiers at point-blank range, merely fifteen yards away. In the ensuing chaos, one Japanese soldier fired directly at McLaughry, the round miraculously missing its target. The night erupted into a desperate close-quarters battle as Japanese troops began hurling grenades while both sides exchanged fire. Bullets, grenade fragments, and shouts filled the air in what would become one of the final violent exchanges of the Battle of Okinawa.
Then, as suddenly as it had erupted, complete silence descended over the battlefield, marking the end of one of the Pacific War's bloodiest encounters.
第 9 章
A Legacy of Sacrifice: Remembering the Mosquito Bowl
The Mosquito Bowl players paid an extraordinary price-fifteen of the sixty-five participants killed in action, a death rate far exceeding the already high casualty rates of the Pacific theater. Their stories represent a unique intersection of American sports culture and military sacrifice, where the same competitive spirit that drove athletic excellence also propelled these young men into combat leadership roles.
Anne and Herb Schreiner received dozens of heartfelt letters about their son, most barely mentioning football. Unusually, both Colonel Alan Shapley and Major General Lemuel Shepherd wrote personal condolences. Shapley called Dave "not just an All-American football player, but an All-American boy in all respects." Shepherd described where Dave was laid to rest: "A stone chapel of Gothic design overlooks a field of white crosses bordered by native shrubs and tiny American flags, with the bright blue of the East China Sea beyond."
The word that haunts us is "waste"-the absolute waste of lives despite their unfathomable bravery that preserved our freedoms. They deserved so much more. These men were alive one moment, then falling onto Okinawa's jagged ground the next, dying alone regardless of who surrounded them.
What made these Marines special was how ordinary men repeatedly rose to extraordinary circumstances. This is true greatness that most never achieve. The Okinawa veterans who survived, now in their nineties, possess remarkable optimism. They love America but more importantly, they believe in it. None considered their service extraordinary. Many returned to college on the GI Bill, seizing every opportunity their country offered.
This story honors those who died by remembering how alive they once were, with the world ahead of them-young men who traded football helmets for combat helmets, playing fields for battlefields, and ultimately gave everything in service to their country. The Mosquito Bowl stands as both a curious footnote in sports history and a profound testament to the generation that answered when duty called, regardless of the cost.
第 10 章
The Human Cost: From College Stars to Fallen Heroes
The transformation from celebrated athletes to casualties of war happened with brutal efficiency. Tony Butkovich, who had set a Big Ten scoring record of 78 points at Purdue and was selected in the first round of the 1944 NFL draft by the Cleveland Rams, was killed by a Japanese sniper on April 18, 1945. His parents received the telegram about two weeks later, and his personal effects were returned home-a knife, map, prayer book, letters and clippings. A letter from his nine-year-old pen pal Tom Milligan was returned stamped "USMC Reports Undeliverable. Return to Sender."
Bob Bauman, who had received the Bronze Star for refusing evacuation until all other wounded from his platoon were safely removed despite his own serious injuries, was killed on June 6, 1945. His brother Frank returned home on ten days' leave after being commissioned as a second lieutenant at Quantico, only to learn from someone outside Casey's pool hall that Bob had been killed. His mother had received the telegram the day before but waited to tell him in person.
The telegram remained in Frank's possession: "DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON FIRST LIEUTENANT ROBERT F BAUMAN USMCR WAS KILLED IN ACTION 6 JUNE 1945 AT OKINAWA ISLAND RYUKYU ISLANDS IN THE PERFORMANCE OF HIS DUTY AND SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY..." Though Frank could never bear to look at the telegram or talk about his brother, some nights he would pour himself scotch and repeatedly play "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" in the dark.
John McLaughry survived the war and returned home to his wife Jane, carrying with him both physical and psychological scars from his Pacific service. His detailed letters and accounts of combat operations provided some of the most vivid documentation of the Marine experience on Okinawa, preserving the memory of those who fought alongside him and didn't return.
The Mosquito Bowl represents a unique moment when American sports culture and military sacrifice intersected in the most profound way possible. These young men, who once competed for glory on college fields, ultimately gave their lives on a distant battlefield, their athletic prowess and competitive spirit redirected to the deadly serious business of war. Their legacy lives on not just in football record books, but in the freedom their sacrifice helped preserve.
