MajGen Caulfield's Rememberance of Col Studt

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Major General Matthew P. Caulfield USMC(Ret)
2023 South Pacific Street
Oceanside, CA 92054

October 10, 2021

Dear Studt Family,
           On hearing of your father's passing, I have thought non-stop about him. I thought the best thing I could do for him is to ensure all of you know him as I did.
           It's important to me because I believe he was the greatest Marine combat leader of our generation who never received, indeed refused, personal recognition. He insisted that recognition and praise for his accomplishments be passed-on to his Marines. He was honest to a fault and acted on his convictions without consideration for the effect it might have on his future success. We developed a close friendship, as close as a friendship can be between a senior and junior officer in the Marine Corps. By the way, every surviving officer who served with us in Vietnam feels the same as I do. We tried to dedicate the 3rd Battalion, 26th Marines Remembrance in the National Museum to him but he refused to let us do so.
           I served with your father on two occasions: Vietnam in 1968 and Okinawa in 1976. Our battalion in Khesanh was in very bad shape when he assumed command. We had been in Khesanh about a month. It was a hell hole. The enemy was one problem in that we were surrounded and lived in holes in the ground to escape incoming artillery and mortars. We were prohibited from patrolling outside of the base and physically were wasting away in holes in the ground. We didn't have showers and subsided totally on c-rations. The more serious problem was we were badly led. Our battalion commander was inept and should not have been in command of an infantry battalion under any circumstances, not to mention combat. The regimental commander seldom left his headquarters, which was less than two hundred yards away from our CP and a short but harrowing ride to our combat outposts. He had no idea of our battalion's predicament. The bright spot was the second in command of our battalion, Major Joe Loughran was highly competent. Although serving as the executive officer, he in fact commanded the battalion. As the S-3 operations officer, I fought the battalion under Joe's guidance.
           Your father's arrival was a godsend. The first night of his arrival, I was on the radio, responding to an intense artillery bombardment when he reached over, took the radio handset from my hand, and directed the battalion. I felt as though a weight was lifted from my shoulders. In short order he visited every one of our positions in the combat base and despite the regiment's warnings, helicoptered to our isolated outposts on 881S and 861 S. He was the only commander to visit those units in the seventy-seven-day siege of Khesanh. He ordered the reinforcement of our command post and bunkers surrounding it. The reinforcements were based on his knowledge of proven lessons learned. That act saved my life, and several others, when an enemy 152mm artillery shell scored a direct hit on our command post. We soon learned that your father had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of military history, which he applied to everyday events. Within a few days he knew every detail of our situation and planned to attack the enemy positions surrounding the base. We discussed that plan almost every day and just about every day he pleaded with the regimental commander to let us go on the offensive.
           That attack began on Easter Sunday. Your father decided on a night attack despite the physical condition of the Marines after months of inactivity. He was with the lead company. Supporting arms, including seven stacks of aircraft, every artillery piece within range, mortars, and direct overhead fire from 50 caliber machine guns simultaneously preceded and accompanied the lead elements on to the objective. I was with your father in a position with clear observation of the objective when an air observer reported, and with binoculars we could make out, enemy soldiers running from the objective. A few minutes later we sighted a Marine climbing a burned-out tree on the objective and attaching an American flag. At that time, we thought the attack was carried out without any friendly casualties. Our joy in the realization that we carried out a perfect battle, and had the enemy on the run, which is something the North Vietnamese Army never did, is impossible to describe. A few minutes later I received a radio call and had to report to him that three Marines had been killed earlier in the battle. I will never forget the agony on his face.
           In early May we departed Khesanh. Your father insisted on being with the last of our battalion to depart the combat base. We arrived in Quang Tri, in an Army operations area located in a relatively safe area. Our mission was to rebuild our battalion. All our personal records and equipment, including vehicles had been destroyed in Khesanh. Nevertheless, it was as though we arrived in paradise. The first day of arrival, we showered, were provide new utility uniforms and a sumptuous hot meal – and best of all, cold beer. It was a wonderful to sleep off the ground on a cot - until about 0200 in the morning.
           The impact from the rocket that impacted on the crossbeam of the tent next to ours literally threw me out of the cot. I got up confused, ran in the pitch dark, looking for a trench. I tripped into a culvert along a road. Other than the sounds from the stricken tent and a few shouts, it was relatively quiet. I got up, ran to the stricken tent. It was a gruesome scene. I heard your father's distinct voice. I found him. He was leading a handful of Marines who helped him pick up and place bodies and body parts into canvas bags.
           A few days later we began operating in the relatively secure Quang Tri area. Our first operation was supposed to be a “walk in the sun”, meaning no enemy contact expected. Joe Loughran, decided to join us, although his executive officer job usually tied him to administrative and logistic chores at the base. The morning was uneventful. About noon time we were joined by an Army Cavalry Squadron. Your father suggested I patrol with the Squadron, so I climbed on to the Bradley vehicle and off we went in a cloud of dust.
           It was a fun afternoon being with the Cav Squadron. Early afternoon the sound of an enormous explosion to our rear drew my attention to the vicinity of where the battalion was operating. There was a huge plume of smoke. I thought it was either mortar, artillery or a bomb. It turned out to be a mortar round attached to a pressure device. Joe Loughran was walking several meters behind your father when he stepped on it. I still can hear your father's distinct hoarse voice over the Bradley's radio screaming, “Matt get back here, Joe's hit.” He never called me by my first name.
           We raced back. The medevac helicopter was just taking off. Jumping down from the Bradley, I could have touched the helicopters underside. it was that close. The corpsman told me Joe kept repeating that he wanted to see his newborn son. He added that Joe probably wouldn't make it. Corpsmen always know. He said that he was more worried about the Colonel. He said he was seriously wounded by the same explosion but refused to be evacuated.
           Your father looked awful. His complexion was ashen. His trousers and shirt were bloodstained as were the dressings on his arms and legs. He said two things when I tried to convince him into being medevaced: “It was my fault.” And “take charge of the battalion and get us back to camp.” I replied, “yes, sir” and began the longest walk of my life.
           Your father was immediately behind me and didn't utter a sound. All I heard was a sloshing sound every time he took a step from the blood which was running down his leg into his boots. I walked back to him several times to urge him to accept a medevac. On each occasion he told me, “They will take the battalion away from me.” I argued that I had to report that he was wounded. His reply was that, “No, I will take care of the reporting”. We kept trudging on with me thinking that any minute he would collapse, and I then I would call a medevac.
           We finally got back to our camp and found out that Major Loughran did not survive. I was a close friend before joining the battalion and we became very close because of our otherwise leaderless situation in Khesanh. After settling in the battalion, I went to my tent, fell to the dirt floor and cried my eyes out. It was the worst night of my life. Your father shared my grief and in addition was suffering from very painful, serious wounds.
           I found him the next morning, struggling with the assistance of the corpsman and sergeant major to get up from his cot. He was clearly in a great deal of pain, grimacing and grunting in agony with the slightest movement. The regimental commander was inbound, and he had to show him he was physically capable to command, which he clearly was not. How he was able to convince the colonel is still a mystery to me. I do know that the new regimental commander, Colonel Bruce Meyers and your father had a relationship that went back to Korea. Then Captain Meyers commanded the company in which then Private Studt served in and was wounded.
           In any event, your father convinced him. At your father's direction we began operating at a high tempo. He continued his practice to lead the battalion from the front. The way he did so was having the sergeant major on one side, his runner on the other side, literally hold him up as he got in and out of helicopters. We continued to dig-in every night as was his standard procedure. We shared the same tactical fighting position. He dug one half, I dug the other. He did so despite searing pain, caused by shrapnel still lodged in his arm. I knew because I witnessed the grimace on his face as he lifted every shovelful of dirt. Every Marine in the battalion also knew.
           We moved south from the coastal flat terrain in Quang Tri to an area of mountainous terrain covered by dense vegetation, known as triple canopy. Shortly after our arrival, your father decided the battalion needed a party. It would be the first and last. We arranged for an officer's party in an officer's club in Da Nang and the troops headed to the 1st Marine Division's enlisted club. Neither party went well. At the officer's club, an officious civilian manager informed him that our drivers, all enlisted, could not enter the club. He went outside, rounded up the drivers and led them into the club and sat at the table he set up for them. He departed early and missed an altercation between a group of over spirited Australian and several of our battalion's officers. At about the same time the troops in the enlisted club engaged in a free for all that according to the commanding general “wrecked my club.”
           The next morning, as your father was preparing to report to a very agitated general, I tried coming up with an alibi for him to use, when he cut me off curtly and asked, “I presume you guys won the fight with the Australians.” As he strapped on a captured North Vietnamese pistol, a gift from the troops which he always wore, I reminded him that the general had a strict rule against using captured weapons. I pointed out that there was a sign on the Division CP to that effect. He replied, “the troops gave it to me.” He prized that pistol and could care less about what the general thought.
           He came back beaming from the ass-chewing with the general. The general told him to take his “mob” and go on an operation that was being planned by the 7th Marines. He couldn't wait to get back to an operation in the field. We were delighted to get away from the general's wrath should he find out about our Australian altercation. We jumped-off on the right flank of a 7th. Marines battalion, accompanied with an earth-shaking artillery preparation. The same general who referred to us a mob a few days prior observed our departure sent a message, stating that it was the most expert utilization of supporting arms he had observed in Vietnam. Your father believed that there was an inverse relationship between the use of supporting arms and Marine casualties. We never moved in unfamiliar terrain without supporting arms. On several occasions he refused to move out until his demands his were met.
           The terrain was very difficult and moving through the thick vegetation was even worse. We often had to crawl up slippery slopes, hanging on to branches. We seldom saw the sky, leaches were an everyday event and we had to deal with snakes and on one occasion, a tiger. The effective use of supporting arms was always a challenge. The 7th Marine's battalion on our flank was evacuated after two weeks due to attrition caused by non-battle casualties. The casualties usually involved severe stomach upset and diarrhea caused by failure to purify water taken from streams, which involved treating canteens with a foul-tasting pill. Your father refused to evacuate non battle casualties, particularly when the cause was failure to purify water. On one occasion a Marine suffered horribly and almost died from diarrhea, but your father refused to relent. He believed evacuations gave away our position to the enemy. One irresponsible Marine could endanger the entire battalion. On the other hand, as hardheaded as he was with evacuation of what he suspected were self-induced non battle casualties, he showed unusual compassion and made extraordinary efforts to evacuate Marines for non-battle causes such as loss of a family member at home. The only word to use is “fanatic” in describing the way he demanded immediate medevac for battle casualties.
           We trudged on for fifty-two days, which was a record by a factor of 3 for any Marine unit operating in that kind of terrain. We managed to continually reposition heavy mortars to a series of fire bases that we moved into. And by the way, we dug in every night. He dug half the hole, I dug the other half.
           Air support was especially difficult. The vegetation made it impossible to mark targets and for the pilot to visibly confirm its location, in accordance with regulations. We instituted a system in which the pilot, in coordination with our forward air controller, flew a compass heading to the target. It deviated from regulations, but it was the only way to ensure air support. It worked as was evident day after day in the numerous successful sorties flown in support. Not once did the enemy initiate an engagement. One day, in one sortie, a pilot flew one degree off azimuth. It resulted in the most tragic day of your father’s tour in Vietnam.
           An entire squad, thirteen Marines were killed instantly. To make matters worse, we had to lift the bodies out of the jungle to our fire base in a cargo net slung from a helicopter. It was a sight none of us would ever forget. Your father stoically walked down to where the net had released its gruesome cargo to supervise the transfer of the bodies to a waiting helicopter. As the helicopters departed, he turned to me and said, “under no circumstances do I want that pilot held accountable.”
           As was inevitable, a few days later a Marine Air Wing investigating officer, a full colonel, arrived at the fire base. Before he said a word your father stated, “I am totally responsible. I insisted on the deviation from procedures.” And then repeated what he had told me a few days before: “under no circumstances do I want the pilot held accountable.” Your father personally wrote the mishap report and in writing accepted full responsibility for that tragic event. We never heard another word about the incident or the investigation.
           As your father's rotation date home approached, he frequently talked about extending his tour to stay on with the battalion. We were close friends by then, having shared a fighting position throughout the operation. I was hoping he would stay on. We all know he was demanding but the very best. Survival in Vietnam improved being with the best. Your father was a tough man and set the highest standards of professional performance. He was a disciplinarian because lives depended on it. Under that uncompromising and rigid exterior lay a sincere compassion and deep love for the men he commanded. He also had a keen sense of humor and often made fun of situations that arose from the environment we were in. He could also laugh at himself. Working for him might be exhausting at times. Serving with him was always professionally rewarding. His repeated references to military history made every day a learning experience.
           We knew each other's families well by sharing news from our letters. I know of no one who loved his family more than he did. I knew that leading from the front as he did had risks. I guess that's the reason I helped to convince him not to extend his tour in Vietnam. The day he departed was not a happy day.
           On his return home among the first things he did was to visit my wife Pat. After my return to Quantico a few months later, we got to know each other's families, including spending time together in your mother's family house in Rehoboth Beach. By good fortune several other members of our battalion also were transferred to Quantico, including the regimental commanding officer. We had some of the best parties ever.
           An event I have suspected had a profound effect on you father's career happened in Quantico. I don't have first-hand information as I was not present, and my conclusion is based on conjecture. I mention it because it says so much about your father's character. As a student in the Command and Staff College, he presented a case based on our experience in Vietnam that was not well accepted by Marine Corps leadership. He related several instances during classroom discussion from our experience in Vietnam in which Marine helicopter support was deficient. His presentation was based on factual instances in which Marine helicopters medevacs were prohibited from flying in certain weather and combat conditions whereas Army helicopter medevacs were not similarly prohibited. We often called first for Army medevacs when available before tasking Marines. He believed it was not the issue of the individual pilots but the system. He reported the situation in several combat after action reports, but remedial action was never taken.
           This time the situation got headquarters' attention. The three-star, deputy commandant for Aviation, an iconic Marine helicopter pilot, arranged to address his class. Your father was looking forward to the opportunity to finally remedy a situation that was unsatisfactory as well as a highly emotional one. Your father made his case and spoke up forcefully as was his custom, but it apparently fell on deaf ears. He told me later that the general just didn't believe him.
           I thought about this incident several times over the years, as I learned how higher levels in the Marine Corps sometimes react to criticism. There is no more sensitive issue than to criticize the superior support Marine air brings to the battlefield. And by the way, no one believed in Marine aviation more, or utilized it better than your father. Unfortunately, there is a tendency to fault the messenger.
           Well, I think I should end here. I had much more to say but I hope you understand why I and so many others believe he is the greatest combat leader of our generation, albeit unrecognized. He also has been an inspiration to me as an example of the highest standards of professional competence and personal character.