Nov 17 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing knelt behind his cannon, hands bloody, eyes burning with smoke and fire. The Union line wavered, the Confederate tide swallowing ground like a dark ocean. He gripped his rammer again...
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Nov 15 , 2025
His cannon roared under a storm of musket fire. Blood welled in his chest, but Alonzo Cushing did not falter. The guns had to keep firing. Death was at his shoulder, but the fight demanded every ou...
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Nov 11 , 2025
Bullets screamed through the smoke-choked air. Cannon roared in defiance. Amid the chaos, a young officer stood firm, bleeding from mortal wounds—yet his fingers gripped the lanyard of a cannon, co...
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Nov 10 , 2025
The cannons roared through the smoke. Men fell like rag dolls. Amid the hellfire on July 3, 1863, Alonzo Cushing stood alone at his battery, blood pouring from wounds no man should bear, screaming ...
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Nov 04 , 2025
Blood seeps through frozen fingers. The roar of cannon fire drowns the screams. Lieutenant Alonzo Cushing grips his saber, then shoves it aside. His hands find the wheel of a single, battered canno...
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Nov 03 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing stood behind his gun at Gettysburg, blood bright on his uniform, every breath a battle against death. The air cracked with cannon fire, smoke thick enough to choke the soul. Around h...
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