Dec 30 , 2025
Alfred B. Hilton gripped that flagpole with every last breath, the weight of the nation wrapped in cotton and dye. Bloodied, staggering, pierced by enemy fire — he didn’t drop it. The colors wouldn...
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Dec 30 , 2025
Alfred B. Hilton gripped the flagstaff like it was the last anchor to his soul. Bullets ripped through the air, Confederate fire blazing from Fort Wagner’s ramparts. Blood oozed from a mortal wound...
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Dec 30 , 2025
The flag whipped madly in the wind, torn and stained. Alfred B. Hilton gripped its staff with hands trembling, bloodied, but unyielding. Twice struck down, he rose again—because the colors had to f...
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Dec 30 , 2025
The flag bled through his hands—grasped tight as bullets cracked like thunder overhead. Alfred B. Hilton, barely 22, refused to let it fall. The vivid colors of the Union’s stars and stripes flashe...
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Dec 30 , 2025
Blood-soaked sand. Smoke chokes the air. Flags ripple like desperate beacons in the chaos. Alfred B. Hilton grips the stars and stripes tight, knowing letting go means failure. A bullet tears throu...
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Dec 30 , 2025
The flag burns brightest in the smoke of battle. Alfred B. Hilton grasped the colors with fingers slicked in blood and grit, even as life slipped through his wounds. The roar of Fort Wagner’s canno...
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