Mar 21 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing stood, a lone figure amid the thunder of cannon fire at Gettysburg. His hand grasped the wheel of his battery’s caisson, eyes burning with a wild, deadly focus. Mortally wounded, blo...
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Mar 17 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing gripped his artillery’s ramrod through a hailstorm of shot and shell. Blood pounded in his ears, each breath a battle against the pain tearing through his body. The enemy surged forw...
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Mar 15 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing gripped the wheel of his cannon as Union lines crumbled around him. The Rebel shells screamed through the Pennsylvania air, tearing flesh and earth alike. Blood slicked his uniform, ...
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Mar 14 , 2026
The air tore with cannon fire. The fretful scream of iron ripping wood and flesh. Blood blurred the lines between orders shouted and prayers whispered. And there, at the hellwashed crest of Cemeter...
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Mar 12 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing stood at the guns, smoke choking the air, blood veining his hands. The roar of Confederate muskets was a living beast, hungrily clawing at the Union lines. Wounded through the chest,...
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Mar 11 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing gripped the cold cannon ramrod as enemy fire shattered the air around him. Wounded, blood pouring, deafened by thunder and screams, he kept his guns firing. When every man fled or fe...
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