Oct 06 , 2025
Blood-soaked dirt under frozen hands. The roar of artillery shakes the earth where Alonzo Cushing stands — unmoving amid chaos. Bullets like hail tear through men around him, but the guns don’t sto...
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Oct 05 , 2025
He bled at the wheel of a cannon, grasping the reins even as death tore through his chest. Balls whistled past. Soulless bullets spun dirt at his feet. Alonzo Cushing held the line until his final ...
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Oct 04 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing gripped his cannon’s wheel. Blood slick on his hands. Bullets hammered past like death knocking at the door. Wounded—deep in the gut, bleeding fast—he refused to quit. His orders wer...
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Oct 03 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing’s hands trembled, blood mixing with dirt as cannon smoke thickened the July air at Gettysburg. Wounded three times, he refused the aide’s desperate plea to leave—his battery a linchp...
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Oct 02 , 2025
The thunder never stopped. Smoke choked the air, mingling with the screams of dying men. Amid the chaos, a young artillery officer stood alone, refusing to let his guns fall silent. Blood poured fr...
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Sep 30 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing’s hands bled. The smoke choked the morning. Bullets tore through the air like curses from hell itself. But his cannon roared without faltering. Mortally wounded, he stayed where most...
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