Dec 30 , 2025
Alfred B. Hilton gripped the colors — the Stars and Stripes — with bloodied fingers, staggering through the smoke and chaos of Fort Wagner. Twice wounded, he bore the flag like a lifeline, refusing...
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Dec 30 , 2025
Alfred B. Hilton gripped the flagstaff with hands slick from sweat and blood. Bullets tore the air around him. Chaos roared like a damned storm. Through every shattered step forward, that banner—st...
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Dec 30 , 2025
Alfred B. Hilton gripped the flagstaff with a dying man’s strength. The roar of cannon fire shook the air. Around him, men fell like trees stripped by a storm. But Hilton kept the colors high, a be...
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Dec 30 , 2025
Alfred B. Hilton stood beneath a sky torn by fire and fury, clutching the stars and stripes as bullets tore through the smoke and blood. The flag slipped from dead hands—his brothers faltering—but ...
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Dec 30 , 2025
Alfred B. Hilton’s hands gripped the staff of that tattered banner even as bullets tore flesh from bone. The color bearer fell, flag slipping, but Hilton caught it—steady, unflinching. Blood slicke...
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Dec 30 , 2025
Alfred B. Hilton gripped that flag pole with hands soaked in blood and grit. Around him, smoke swallowed brothers and enemies alike. The roar of cannon fire carved death with brutal rhythm, but Hil...
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