Oct 09 , 2025
The cannon roared. Smoke choked the air. Bloodied hands gripped the wheel, tightening on the wheel even as ribs shattered like dry twigs beneath the blow. Alonzo Cushing would not fall silent. Not ...
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Oct 09 , 2025
The air burned dusty and thick over Cemetery Ridge. The sky bled smoke. Alonzo Cushing, barely more than a boy with the weight of a nation on his shoulders, gritted his teeth and ordered his guns t...
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Oct 08 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing’s hands shook, blood dripping from shattered fingers. The guns fell silent in front of him, but he kept firing— on borrowed breath, on sheer will alone. His artillery piece roared de...
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Oct 08 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing gripped the wheel of his artillery piece at Gettysburg, smoke choking the air, hot lead biting into flesh. Wounded three times, blood soaked through his uniform, his fingers clenched...
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Oct 07 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing stood amid chaos and death, clutching his shattered cannon’s wheel. Blood washed over his uniform as bullets sliced the air, smoke stinging his eyes. His left arm torn open, his thig...
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Oct 07 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing's last stand at Gettysburg was a storm of iron and fire. Amid shattered cannon, smoke-choked air, and screaming men, he sat firm behind his artillery wheel, blood leaking from mortal...
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