Oct 30 , 2025
Blood. Mud. Thunder. The last scream of a cannon cut the morning smoke on Cemetery Ridge. There, amid the Hell of Gettysburg’s third day, Alonzo Cushing held his ground. His artillery crew shattere...
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Oct 22 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing stood alone, blood pouring from his chest, yet he never quieted his guns. The rebel tide crashed over Cemetery Ridge at Gettysburg. Amid cries, smoke, and chaos, his artillery still ...
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Oct 09 , 2025
The cannon roared. Smoke choked the air. Bloodied hands gripped the wheel, tightening on the wheel even as ribs shattered like dry twigs beneath the blow. Alonzo Cushing would not fall silent. Not ...
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Oct 09 , 2025
The air burned dusty and thick over Cemetery Ridge. The sky bled smoke. Alonzo Cushing, barely more than a boy with the weight of a nation on his shoulders, gritted his teeth and ordered his guns t...
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Oct 08 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing’s hands shook, blood dripping from shattered fingers. The guns fell silent in front of him, but he kept firing— on borrowed breath, on sheer will alone. His artillery piece roared de...
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Oct 07 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing stood amid chaos and death, clutching his shattered cannon’s wheel. Blood washed over his uniform as bullets sliced the air, smoke stinging his eyes. His left arm torn open, his thig...
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