Jun 20 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing gripped the artillery wheel with one hand. Blood pooled beneath him. His body screamed with every breath. Yet the cannon roared on—through smoke, through death, through the sound of ...
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Jun 18 , 2026
The sun sweltered above Cemetery Ridge on July 3, 1863, but Alonzo Cushing felt only the chill of death creeping closer. His right arm shattered, bleeding out in the mud and smoke, he refused to si...
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Jun 18 , 2026
He bled for every inch of that ridge. The roar of cannon smoke and iron shattered the air. Alonzo Cushing gritted through pain no man should carry—his legs broken, blood pouring down like the fla...
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Jun 16 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing knew the angle of death. The crack of musket and cannon fire was a symphony he gripped like a vice. As Confederate troops surged forward on July 3, 1863, at Gettysburg, he refused to...
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Jun 15 , 2026
The roar of cannon smoke chokes the July air. Blood seeps from Alonzo H. Cushing’s wounds, but his hands grip the wheel of his gun carriage with iron will. “Keep firing. Hold this line.” The Battl...
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Jun 13 , 2026
Alonzo Cushing stood his ground amid a hailstorm of lead and iron, his artillery crew faltering under relentless Confederate pressure. Blood seeped through his uniform. His right arm shattered, han...
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