Dec 25 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing clung to his gun like a dying man clings to hope. Bullets shredded the air; smoke choked the earth around him. His blood mixed with the mud. The Union line was breaking. Yet, he neve...
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Dec 24 , 2025
The roar was deafening. Smoke choked the air. Cushing’s gun crew was gone. His hands were stained crimson. Yet, Alonzo Cushing stayed at his post, cranking the wheel, firing the cannon against the ...
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Dec 23 , 2025
Blood. Noise. Fire swallowing the ridge. The screams of dying men drowned out the orders, but not Alonzo Cushing. He stood amid hell’s fury, his cannons hammering steady thunder into the Confederat...
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Dec 22 , 2025
The cannon thundered like the earth itself was breaking apart. Smoke choked the air. Bullets sang death songs all around. Through the chaos, Alonzo Cushing stood at his lonely battery on Cemetery R...
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Dec 21 , 2025
Blood runs red as the cannon roars. Alonzo Cushing, barely twenty-four, holds the line with shattered ribs and a shattered world closing in. Bullets whistle past. His arm mangled, his breath ragged...
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Dec 20 , 2025
Even as the cannon roared beneath a sun scorched sky, Alonzo Cushing’s hand never faltered. Blood soaked his uniform. Flesh gave way to bullet and bone. Still, he pulled the lanyard again and again...
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