Jan 25 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing lay mortally wounded amid the hail of cannon fire, the roar of musketry burning like hell around him. Yet, finger stiff on the lanyard, he ordered his battery to fire again—unyieldin...
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Jan 23 , 2026
He bled where most men would have fallen. Amid the storm of musket fire and cannon smoke at Gettysburg, Alonzo Cushing stood defiantly—wounded, gasping, refusing to yield the guns that anchored the...
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Jan 22 , 2026
The cannon roared through the dense smoke, shredding the summer air of July 3rd, 1863. Alonzo Cushing stayed at his post, bleeding out on Cemetery Ridge, eyes fixed on the creeping waves of Confede...
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Jan 21 , 2026
Blood runs like the rain on July 3, 1863. Cannons scream, dirt airborne like fireflies in the dusk. Amid the Hell of Pickett’s Charge, a young artillery officer, Alonzo Cushing, clings to his gun. ...
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Jan 20 , 2026
Bloodied hands clutch cannon reigns—smoke chokes the dawn. The roar of battle swells, yet Alonzo Cushing will not yield. Wounded, staggering, he demands fire. One last salvo, crushing the Confedera...
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Jan 19 , 2026
Bloodied but Steal-Eyed—The Last Stand of Alonzo Cushing His hands clenched the wheel of a cannon, the roar of Gettysburg’s hell swirling around him. Smoke thick as death, shells screaming overhead...
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