Jul 31 , 2026
Blood and iron screamed through the July dawn. Amid the rolling hills of Gettysburg, July 3, 1863, Lieutenant Alonzo Cushing gripped the reins of hell. The artillery battery before him shattered th...
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Jul 30 , 2026
He bled over those guns like a soldier possessed. Alonzo Cushing stood his ground at Cemetery Ridge, the cannon a roaring heartbeat beneath the relentless pounding of Confederate assault. Muskets s...
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Jul 29 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing bled on the crest of Cemetery Ridge, clutching his cannon’s wheel with one hand, the other slipping away in death’s cold grip. His voice hoarse, the roar of musket and cannon fire dr...
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Jul 26 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing’s blood didn’t stain Gettysburg quietly. It screamed defiance from a shattered artillery pit, a single man holding an entire line together with powder and iron, even as flesh tore an...
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Jul 25 , 2026
The roar of cannon fire cracked the July air like thunder rolling off the ridge. Amid smoke and screams, a young artillery officer stood fast behind his guns at Cemetery Ridge. Bullets ripped flesh...
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Jul 24 , 2026
Blood soaked the earth beneath his hands. His fingers tightened on the lanyard. Smoke gouged the air, and death stalked between the waves of Union blue and Confederate gray. Still, he held fast — w...
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