Feb 06 , 2026
Alfred B. Hilton gripped the colors tight as lead tore through the air. Around him, soldiers fell — their faces twisted in agony and resolve. The flag was more than cloth; it was the soul of the re...
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Feb 06 , 2026
Alfred B. Hilton gripped the Stars and Stripes with hands soaked in blood, his body breaking but his will unyielding. As bullets tore through Fort Wagner’s hailstorm, he hoisted the flag higher whe...
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Feb 06 , 2026
Smoke chokes the air. The flag is torn, blood-soaked. Still, it flies. Amidst the screams and the mayhem of Fort Wagner, a soldier named Alfred B. Hilton gripped the colors with hands near broken, ...
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Feb 06 , 2026
Alfred B. Hilton gripped the flagstaff tightly. The roar of cannon fire and shrieking bullets filled the Charleston air. Around him, chaos reigned—comrades falling, lines breaking, smoke choking th...
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Feb 06 , 2026
Alfred B. Hilton gripped the tattered flag staff with hands shattered by battle, blood seeping through torn flesh, yet he refused to let it fall. Amid the hellfire at Fort Wagner, under a hail of e...
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Feb 06 , 2026
Flag aloft, blood pouring down my hands. I knew the enemy’s guns hadn’t stopped when I fell, but neither had my will. Alfred B. Hilton carried more than cloth that day at Fort Wagner—he carried the...
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