Rosie the Rocketer: The Madness of Mercy

The War from Above
September 20th, 1944, was a pivotal day for Major Charles Carpenter, but it began in the most unassuming of ways. At 6:15 a.m., the morning fog rolled across the fields of Aracord, France, as the German Fifth Panzer Army’s Panther tanks advanced toward American positions. Carpenter, a 32-year-old high school history teacher from Molen, Illinois, crouched beside his Piper L4 Grasshopper, preparing for a mission that seemed both reckless and brave.

Carpenter’s plane, affectionately called “Rosie the Rocketer” by his crew, was a far cry from the typical reconnaissance planes. Unlike most L4 pilots who observed from above and called in artillery coordinates, Carpenter had armed his Grasshopper with six M9 bazookas, creating an untested weapon system. The sheer physics of it were terrifying—the plane was overloaded, with its wings now carrying more weight than was deemed safe. The risk of flying an unarmed observation plane into enemy territory was high enough, but this—this was something else entirely. This was a soldier determined to change the way wars were fought, if only for a brief moment.

A History Teacher Turned Soldier
Before the war, Carpenter had taught history, lecturing his students about distant battles and strategies. Now, he was flying through the sky, racing toward a battlefield where tanks could destroy his plane with a single shot. The German Panther tanks had already wreaked havoc, knocking out American Shermans left and right. Carpenter had watched as his fellow soldiers burned alive inside their steel coffins, helpless to retaliate. For months, he had circled high above in his plane, a passive observer, a man condemned to watch without ever being able to fight back. But on that day, the idea of simply observing was no longer enough.

Carpenter had watched American tank crews die while he hovered above, calling in coordinates, reporting enemy positions, but never engaging in direct combat. The tank battles were a brutal slaughter, and Carpenter couldn’t help but feel that something had to be done. He was tired of standing by, watching his comrades perish, all because the tanks they fought were superior. The Panthers could destroy a Sherman from over a thousand yards away, while American tanks had a fighting range of only 300 yards. With no artillery support available, Carpenter realized something had to change—and he was willing to take the first step.

The Birth of a New Weapon
Inspired by a tale of two other pilots mounting bazookas on their planes, Carpenter approached an ordinance technician and a crew chief with an idea that was as audacious as it was desperate. They agreed to modify his L4 Grasshopper, mounting three bazookas on each wing strut. The mechanics were simple enough—fire the rockets at a close range, dive toward the target, and fire at the right moment. The rest, however, was far from simple. The Grasshopper was a small, fragile plane with limited payload capacity, and no one knew how the wings would hold up under the intense heat of the rocket’s exhaust.

But Carpenter, driven by desperation, wasn’t concerned with the odds. He bolted the bazookas onto his plane and dubbed it “Rosie the Rocketer.” Every other pilot flew reconnaissance missions from a safe distance, but Carpenter wasn’t interested in staying high. He was ready to dive into the fire.

First Blood
On September 20th, with fog thick around the airstrip and German tanks pushing ever closer, Carpenter climbed into his Grasshopper alone. He had no observer, no radio operator, just himself and 18 rockets. As he released the brakes, the overloaded plane lurched forward, the engine sputtering to life. For the next several hours, Carpenter would either survive or change the way small planes could fight. There would be no middle ground.

Once airborne, the plane’s fabric wings groaned under the weight. Carpenter’s speed was sluggish, and he noticed how differently the Grasshopper handled with the bazookas mounted. The plane fought him every step of the way as he pushed it through the air, and at times, it felt as if it might break apart. But the fog was finally starting to clear, and he descended to 1,000 feet, searching for targets.

His first encounter with the German Panthers was terrifying. From his small plane, Carpenter could see the German tanks moving in a formation, their heavy armor advancing toward the American positions. The launchers were armed, and Carpenter had only one chance. He lined up his first tank, locked onto it with his crosshairs, and dove toward it. As he released the rocket, the airframe shook violently under the force, and the rocket flew out, trailing white smoke as it slammed into the side of the lead Panther tank. Carpenter pulled the nose of the plane up sharply to avoid German infantry fire, praying that the rockets had hit their target. When he looked back, he saw smoke rising from the immobilized tank. It was a victory—small, but significant.

The Risks and Rewards of Mercy
After Carpenter’s first successful attack, the Germans were no longer ignoring him. They had learned that L4s were no longer just observation planes—they were dangerous. His second pass was even more dangerous, as the Germans had learned to expect his attacks and set up anti-aircraft positions. But Carpenter wasn’t backing down. The risk was real; every time he dove toward the tanks, he was a target for the German infantry. The stress on the plane’s structure was beginning to take its toll. The wings, weakened by the additional weight of the rockets, began to tear under the strain. The engine sputtered and coughed, but Carpenter pushed on.

By the time he reached the last German tank, he had already taken several hits from small arms fire, and the engine was beginning to seize. But with one final act of defiance, Carpenter dove on the last Panther, releasing his remaining rockets in a final hail of fire. The Panther was destroyed, its crew scrambling to escape as flames engulfed the tank. The remaining German forces scattered, disorganized and vulnerable.

But Carpenter’s Grasshopper was falling apart. The engine failed, and he was left gliding toward the nearest airstrip, his wings torn and his fuel gauge nearly empty. With no engine power and the plane barely holding together, Carpenter forced the plane into a soft landing in a nearby field, narrowly avoiding an explosion as fuel leaked from the ruptured tank.

The Madness of War
Though the Grasshopper had been destroyed, Carpenter’s attacks had made a lasting impact. His bazooka attacks had successfully destroyed or immobilized four Panther tanks, saving the lives of 20 American soldiers trapped in the waterpoint. The Germans had learned to take L4s seriously, and Carpenter’s bravery had changed the way the war was fought in the skies above Europe. The Army credited him with six destroyed tanks, though some accounts suggest the real number was much higher.

But Carpenter wasn’t in it for the accolades. He was in it because, like his grandfather had taught him, mercy sometimes means putting everything on the line to help others—even if they are your enemies. Carpenter’s willingness to risk his life in the face of insurmountable odds was a testament to the humanity that still existed, even in the chaos of war.

After the War
Carpenter’s success in using bazooka-mounted planes didn’t last long. The risk of flying such a vulnerable aircraft into anti-aircraft fire was too great, and the concept was soon abandoned by most pilots. But Carpenter continued to serve with distinction throughout the remainder of the war. He was eventually diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease in early 1945, and despite being given a terminal prognosis, he outlived the doctor’s predictions by over two decades. He returned to his hometown of Urbana, Illinois, where he continued teaching history until his death in 1966.

Even in his final years, Carpenter’s legacy as “Bazooka Charlie” remained a quiet part of his life. His story wasn’t one of medals or battlefield glory. Instead, it was the story of a man who, when faced with impossible odds, chose to fight for mercy—and in doing so, changed the course of his life, and the lives of those around him.

The Legacy of Rosie the Rocketer
Years after the war, in 2017, aviation historians uncovered the remains of Carpenter’s beloved Grasshopper, “Rosie the Rocketer,” hidden away in an Austrian museum. The plane, though weathered and worn, was still intact. The legacy of Carpenter’s ingenuity and courage would soon soar again. It would take years of restoration, but the plane that had once fought the might of German tanks would fly once more—reminding the world of a soldier who understood that sometimes, the most powerful weapon isn’t the one that shoots, but the one that shows mercy.

Carpenter’s story is not just a tale of warfare, but of choosing humanity when everything else falls away. It is a reminder that in the darkest times, mercy is the greatest form of strength.