Oct 06 , 2025
Blood on the Highlands. Smoke chokes the air. Cannons roar like thunder ripping apart the sky. Alonzo Cushing, barely twenty years old, stands amid the chaos at Cemetery Ridge. His left arm shatter...
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Oct 06 , 2025
Blood-soaked dirt under frozen hands. The roar of artillery shakes the earth where Alonzo Cushing stands — unmoving amid chaos. Bullets like hail tear through men around him, but the guns don’t sto...
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Oct 05 , 2025
He bled at the wheel of a cannon, grasping the reins even as death tore through his chest. Balls whistled past. Soulless bullets spun dirt at his feet. Alonzo Cushing held the line until his final ...
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Oct 05 , 2025
Blood and powder filled the air. Alonzo Cushing lay pinned beside his gun battery on Cemetery Ridge, the roar of cannon and musket deafening. Wounded through the chest, nearly broken, but still fir...
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Oct 04 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing gripped his cannon’s wheel. Blood slick on his hands. Bullets hammered past like death knocking at the door. Wounded—deep in the gut, bleeding fast—he refused to quit. His orders wer...
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Oct 03 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing’s hands trembled, blood mixing with dirt as cannon smoke thickened the July air at Gettysburg. Wounded three times, he refused the aide’s desperate plea to leave—his battery a linchp...
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