Dec 07 , 2025
The air thick with smoke and sweat, the ground shaking under cannon fire—Alonzo Cushing was the storm’s eye. A young artillery officer, ripped open and bleeding out, still commanding his guns at Ge...
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Dec 07 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing lay in a muddy slit trench on Cemetery Hill, artillery piece roaring in defiance as Confederate shells shrieked overhead. Blood soaked his uniform, vision blurring, but he would not ...
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Dec 06 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing’s hands were bloodied and trembling, yet he gripped the wheel of his cannon like a man chained to fate. The roar of musket fire cracked the air over Cemetery Ridge, July 3, 1863, as ...
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Dec 05 , 2025
Blood and smoke choked the air. The roar of cannon fire drowned out the cries of dying men. Amid the chaos, a single voice barked orders. Alonzo Cushing, barely more than a boy, gritted his teeth. ...
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Dec 03 , 2025
Cannon fire roared. Smoke filled the air like a shroud. Amid the chaos at Little Round Top, a young Union artillery officer refused to quit. Guns blazed, men fell, bones cracked. Yet Alonzo Cushing...
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Dec 02 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing gripped his cannon’s wheel through a smoke-choked haze, blood seeping from wounds no man should endure. The roar of Gettysburg’s third day washed over him like a relentless tide. The...
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