“I am Enrique Gorostieta,” stammered the downed soldier, struggling, blood oozing from the hole where a bullet had ripped open his chest.

With callous contempt, the enemy pointed a 7mm machine gun and pulled the trigger, delivering a fatal shot to the head of the wounded warrior, on June 2, 1929, at the San Jose del Valle Hacienda, in the Highlands of Jalisco.

A swift, unexpected end to the brilliant, flamboyant, charismatic, much-loved, valiant General Enrique Nicolas Jose Gorostieta Velarde. He was only 38.

As a young man, his had been a military life – filled with moments of sheer terror inexplicably, inextricably conjoined with long stretches of ennui. All for duty: duty of state and duty for State. Proudly, he served faithfully, unwaveringly in the Mexican National Army, battling Revolutionaries. Then, after the abrupt and shocking dissolution of the army and a forced exile, he traveled to Europe, where he enlisted in the French Foreign Legion to fight the Central Powers during World War I, in which he participated in some of history’s most famous battles.

But, perhaps, his greatest stint was his last: as Generalissimo in the Cristeros’ National Guard, the paramilitary branch of the Liberation Movement, with its motto: God, Country and Freedom.

Far in years and far in miles from where his crumpled body lay on blood-soaked earth, Gorostieta was born on September 18, 1890, in the family home, at 88 Matamoros Street, in Monterrey, in the state of Nuevo Leon. The first and only son of Maria Velarde Valdez Llano (1864-1912) and Antonio Maria Enrique Pedro Gorostieta Gonzalez (1856-1921), the family already had two daughters: Ana Maria (1887-1935) and Eva Maria Valentina (1886-1955).

Impulsive, adventurous, intelligent, Gorostieta came into the world in an upper-middle-class family with Basque roots. Sophisticated, practicing Catholics, they preferred discretion, not ostentation, regarding their state in life and their faith, in a nation weighed down in extreme poverty and where 99.5 percent of the population declared themselves Catholic in the 1900 census.

First, Enrique Gorostieta served in the Mexican National Army, battling Revolutionaries. Then he enlisted in the French Foreign Legion to fight the Central Powers during World War I. But, perhaps, his greatest stint was his last: as Generalissimo in the Cristeros’ National Guard, the paramilitary branch of the Liberation Movement, with its motto: God, Country and Freedom.

After completing his primary and secondary studies at Hidalgo College in his hometown, he leaned toward a law career, following in the footsteps of his father, a practicing attorney, who – as a young man and promoter of individual rights and civil liberties – had written for various periodicals to express his social-conscious ideals of freedom and order.

However, regarding his future, the younger Gorostieta’s mother swayed her son with her influence. She encouraged him to enter the military; after all, his ancestors included, at least, one military hero.

Through his maternal lineage, he was a descendant of Spaniard Pedro Velarde y Santillan (1779-1808), an artillery captain who, along with Luis Daoiz y Torres (1767-1808), heroically met his death, on May 2, 1808, while defending the Artillery Park during the Dos de Mayo Uprising, in Madrid, Spain. They sparked the independence movement with their battle against the invading troops of Napoleon Bonaparte (born Napoleone di Buonaparte, 1769-1821), igniting the Peninsular War (May 2, 1808-14) during the Napoleonic Wars (1803-15).

Through his paternal lineage, he also had an esteemed military heritage. One of his grandfathers, Nicolas Gorostieta, fought in the United Mexican States’ War of Reform (1858-61) and the Second Franco-Mexican War (1861-67), obtaining the rank of colonel.

The young Gorostieta made a decision.

On October 19, 1906, he penned a request for admission to the Heroic Military College, headquartered in Mexico City’s Chapultepec Castle. Not just any military academy. It was la flor y nata, the best of the best, Mexico’s version of the United States Military Academy, in West Point, New York.

Enrique Gorostieta

Patiently, impatiently, he waited for a response.

Two months later, on December 26, 1906, he held in his hands a belated Christmas gift – an admission certificate with his first official orders: Report to duty, commit to eight years of rigorous academic instruction as well as 40 days of physical training each school year, and upon completion – having gained the necessary discipline and self-reliance – assume the role of officer in the Mexican Army Corps.

Plunged into the strict military world of regulations and routine, he proved himself a brilliant student and one of the best cadets. He flourished, earning numerous merits and awards, but, because of his strong character that often caused conflict, he also collected many reprimands and punishments.

Following four years of instruction and training, he received his first assignment: Corps of Engineers of the Mexican Army. But only months later, the – seemingly – calm, steady Mexico of the Porfiriato quickly plunged into chaos. Known for order and progress, the Porfiriato (1876-1910) was a period named for Jose de la Cruz Porfirio Diaz Mori (1830-1915), whose reign began after he initially, successfully grabbed power, in 1876.

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But after the turbulent, fraudulent 1910 elections, not only did Porfirio (National Reelectionist Party) attempt to take out his opponent – Francisco Ignacio Madero Gonzalez (1873-1913) – by throwing him in prison, he also fraudulently declared a near-unanimous victory in which he claimed that he had received 99 percent of the votes, and Madero (National Anti-Reelectionist Party) had received a measly 1 percent. Enraged, voters called for Porfirio’s ouster, sparking the beginning of the Mexican Revolution (1910-20). Madero’s Plan of San Luis Potosi, secretly published and distributed, called for the Revolution to begin at 6 p.m., on November 20, 1910.

To help bolster the failing regime, Gorostieta left behind his books and his parade boots and volunteered for active service in Porfirio’s Federal Army (1876-1914) – known as the Federales – to fight off the Maderista Revolutionaries. On May 6, 1911, at the age of 20, he received his first professional military assignment: the new machine-gun company, under the command of General Guillermo Rubio Navarrete (1877-1949).

His father – a man of letters – wrote to him:

“You did very well to offer yourself for service when the government called on the College. It is your duty, and when it is your duty, there is no room for hesitation or lukewarmness. I am sorry that you have to pay your quota so soon, but I can only praise your spontaneity in accepting the test. What matters now is to accept it with courage and resignation, doing everything in your power to maintain, for the propriety of the country, the reputation of the Institute to which you belong, of course in a serious and thoughtful manner – without your enthusiasm degenerating into quixoticism – with a lot of obedience, a lot of discipline, and courage and serenity in danger.”

With the odds against Porfirio’s political – let alone physical – survival, the president resigned, on May 25, 1911, and fled the country for Spain six days later, on May 31, 1911.

Instilled with the ideal of allegiance to the institution that formed him, Gorostieta remained loyal to the Federal Army and defended the forces that he had just opposed. In support of the Madero regime, he joined in the battles against the Zapatistas, the Liberation Army of the South, led by handsome, mustachioed, sombrero-topped, charro-suited General Emiliano Zapato Salazar (1879-1919), who boasted not one, but two nombres de guerra: “Caudillo of the South” and the “Attila of the South.”

Distinguishing himself with remarkable innovations such as secreting military detachments, armed with large-caliber weapons, aboard railway gondolas – Gorostieta quickly moved up the ranks. Initially promoted to head a machine-gun section, he was soon bumped up, in February 1912, to the rank of tactical artillery captain 2nd class, as a reward for his exemplary performance. At that time, he also, graciously, was granted a transfer to Monterrey, to care for his gravely ill mother, who died soon after his arrival.

But then, more civil unrest hit the nation: the Ten Tragic Days (February 9-19, 1913), a violent takeover of the government, organized by loyal Porfiristas, prison escapees who rose to oppose Madero, betrayed by his recently elevated commander of the Mexican Federal Army, General Jose Victoriano Huerta Marquez (1850-1916), who switched sides, joined the rebels and led the revolt.

Captured by the insurgents, Madero was thrown in prison and forced to resign, on February 18, 1913. The next day, February 19, Huerta seized the presidency, and, ruthlessly, ordered Madero’s execution, carried out on February 22.

Huerta ruled with a mano dura, an iron first, relied heavily on his army and slid many of his officers into sinecures. That included Gorostieta, who gained a key position on the presidential staff, and, once again, received preferential treatment: promoted to 1st captain, on March 11, 1913, and then two months later, on May 5, 1913, Huerta, himself, presented him with a Third-Class Medal of Military Merit, usually reserved only for those who achieved 20 years of service.

But, still, more Revolutionary rumblings in the hinterlands, far away from the capital city and the seat of power. In the northeast, the newly formed Constitutionalist Army of Jose Venustiano Carranza de la Garza (1859-1920), threatened the Huerta regime.

While still part of Huerta’s staff, Gorostieta volunteered, on June 14, 1913, to join the contingent that confronted the Carrancista insurgents, who proved deficient and disorganized as troops. Weeks later, on July 2, 1913, the Federales skirmished with the rebels in the foothills of Candela, in the state of Coahuila, and proved victorious after only seven hours of combat.

For Gorostieta’s services, he received more promotions: On August 18, 1913, to the rank of permanent tactical artillery major. In October, to tactical lieutenant colonel of the artillery, in charge of the machine gun regiment. And then on November 8, 1913, to tactical colonel of the permanent artillery, for his continued world-class military modernizations.

Yet again, only months later, another threat, this time foreign interference from the neighbors to the north.

Gorostieta joined the forces dispatched to defend the Port of Veracruz, on the Gulf of Mexico, where the United States Navy fleet had established an imposing, impassable blockade with 65 large warships, carrying 30,000 sailors and infantrymen and nearly 700 large-caliber guns that bombarded the defenseless port.

For his meritorious participation, the stalwart Gorostieta was elevated, on July 14, 1914, to the rank of brigadier general of the permanent artillery, at the age of 24, the youngest federal military officer to reach that rank in the national army.

The barricade – causing the Ypiranga Incident – intended to thwart the scheduled arrival, on April 21, 1914, of the SS Ypiranga, a screw steamer on which the Germans had shipped arms for Huerta. But the Democratic president of the United States of America – Thomas Woodrow Wilson (1856-1924) – opposed the Huerta regime, backed the opposing Revolutionaries and kept the American naval vessels in port from April 21 to November 23, 1914.

Nonchalantly, the Germans simply sailed down the coastline and offloaded the enormous cargo, at then-named Puerto Mexico. The load consisted of more than 15,770 cases: 14,250 cases of cartridges, 1,500 cases of carbines and 20 cases of rapid-fire machine guns, according to the manifest obtained by the United States Department of Justice.

For his meritorious participation, the stalwart Gorostieta was elevated, on July 14, 1914, to the rank of brigadier general of the permanent artillery, at the age of 24, the youngest federal military officer to reach that rank in the national army.

However, on July 15, only one day after Gorostieta’s promotion, Carranza and his Carrancistas finally overthrew Huerta, who hastily resigned, boarded the German SMS Dresden – Seiner Majestat Schiff, His Majesty’s Ship – and fled for Kingston, Jamaica.

Not only did the new regime replace the president, but it also replaced the army that had defended the seat of power. The following month, on August 13, 1914, General Gustavo A. Salas, of the Federal Army; Vice Admiral Othon Pompeyo Blanco Nunez (1868-1959), of the Mexican Armada; and General Alvaro Obregon Salido (1880-1928), of the Constitutionalist Army, congregated around a 1911 Packard Model 30 touring sedan. Upon its left front fender’s mudguard, they signed the Teoloyucan Treaties, which stipulated the surrender of the Federal Army, its dissolution and its replacement by Carranza’s Constitutionalist Army (1913-20), known as the Carrancistas.

Discharged as brigadier general, Gorostieta raged into exile, bitter against the Revolution and its Revolutionaries who had destroyed his life, his future.

“These individuals of the Revolution, these supermen, are soaked in Mexican blood from the tips of their hair to the nails of their toes,” he griped.

His widower father – an educated man who had been the deputy governor of the state of Nuevo Leon in the Porfirio regime, and a minister of finance and justice in the Madero regime as well as the Huerta regime – joined his son in exile.

On September 25, 1914, the two men squeezed aboard the SS City of Tampico, a cattle screw steamer packed with political refugees, including: four former secretaries of state, three former governors, two generals and one Catholic bishop. From Veracruz, father and son departed and landed in Galveston, Texas, where they provided for themselves the basics of food and housing by working menial jobs for the next two years.

In mid-1916, the younger Gorostieta, along with a few former fellow Mexican soldiers, decamped from Laredo, Texas, and deployed to Europe, the Old Continent, where they enlisted in the Marching Regiment of the Foreign Legion (Regiment de Marche de la Legion Etrangere, RMLE), a French Army shock unit formed on November 11, 1915. Fresh bodies, sent into the bloody meat grinders of World War I (1914-18).

The most decorated unit of the French Foreign Legion – the French Army’s elite contingent of foreign volunteers – of the 42,883 soldiers in Gorostieta’s unit, 30,172 were killed – a casualty rate of 70 percent – fighting on different fronts during the second half of the Great War, which, in toto, claimed the lives of approximately 9 million soldiers and 8 million civilians.

The Regiment heroically participated in:

The Battle of Verdun (February 21 to December 18, 1916), the longest battle of the war. The Battle of Somme (July 1 to November 18, 1916), one of the bloodiest battles in history. The Battle of the Hills, also known as the Third Battle of Champagne, (April 17 to May 20, 1917). The Second Battle of Villers-Bretonneux (April 24-27, 1918), noted historically for the world’s first tank-on-tank fighting and the death of handsome aristocrat Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen (1892-1918), the ace of flying aces, nicknamed the “Red Baron” for his nobility lineage and for painting his plane red. The Second Battle of the Marne (July 15-18, 1918). The Battle of Soissons (July 18-22, 1918). And the Hundred Days Offensive (August 8 to November 11, 1918), which saw the breaching of the Hindenburg Line, in September 1918, the beginning of the end for the Germans.

At the conclusion of World War I, at 11 in the morning, on November 11, 1918 – the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month – Armistice Day, a soul-searching Gorostieta began a therapeutic meandering across Europe, practicing and perfecting his polyglot language skills of English, French, German and Italian. But before long, he departed the Old World, for the New and traveled back across the Atlantic Ocean to Havana, Cuba, where he found work in a broom factory. From there, he reunited briefly with his father, still in Laredo. The elder Gorostieta would die later that year, on May 9, 1921, at the age of 65, still in exile from his homeland, alone, without any family.

With politics in Mexico as disordered as usual, nearly six years after ousting Huerta, Carranza suspected a coup in the making, grabbed gold out of the Mexican treasury and fled to Veracruz. But he could not escape his assassination, on May 21, 1920, which made way for Felipe Adolfo de la Huerta Marcor’s (1881-1955) usurpation of power. Carranza’s execution gave the politically exiled Gorostieta an opportunity to return home to Mexico, in the beginning of 1921.

The following year, at the age of 31, he left bachelorhood behind and married childhood friend Gertrudis “Tulita” Lasaga Sepulveda, a true love match. The Sacrament of Matrimony took place in the aristocratic neighborhood of the Colonia de San Rafael, in Mexico City, on February 22, 1922, in the historic parish Church of Saints Cosme and Damian, which first began construction in 1672.

Loss struck the newlywedded couple, anguished when their first child died en utero. More heartbreak followed when their firstborn Enrique (September 24, 1923-May 6, 1924), tragically, died in infancy. But they received three more blessings: their second-born, also named Enrique “Kiko” (born January 18, 1925), followed by Fernando “Nillo” (born July 28, 1926) and, finally, Luz Maria (born January 25, 1928), who would never be cuddled or kissed by her father.

With his growing family, he needed money. Still bitter against the Revolutionaries for ruining his career and financial security, he did what he could for cash: He tried his hand as a businessman specializing in consumer chemicals, in Azcapotzalco, a district in northwestern Mexico City; however, that venture failed after the Bolshevik regime interfered with business. But he did successfully introduce the SalvaVidas candy – known in America as LifeSavers – imported from the New York-based Mint Products Company. He also acted as administrator of the farm owned by his in-laws, in Torreon, in the state of Coahuila, specializing in alfalfa, cotton, grapes and wheat. To pick up a few extra pesos, he wrote manuscripts on technical and economic topics. And, eventually, he found steady work running a soap factory. Still, the family always struggled financially.

But then, on July 2, 1926, everything changed, not only for the Gorostietas, but for all Catholics in Mexico.

That day, a law promoting religious persecution – specifically forcing the Catholic faithful into submission to the State – was published in the regime’s official agitprop rag, the Diario Oficial, with the lengthy official name: “Law that Reforms the Penal Code for the District and Federal Territories on Common Law Crimes, and for the Entire Republic on Crimes Against the Federation: of Crimes and Misdemeanors in Matters of Religious Worship and External Discipline.”

More commonly known as the Calles Law – because of its enactment by Mexican President Plutarco Elias Calles (born Francisco Plutarco Elias Campuzano, 1877-1945) – it was a national call to action for Catholics and Catholophobics alike that the discriminatory and prejudicial anti-religious laws of the 1917 Political Constitution of the United Mexican States were going to be enforced. Specifically, five articles that targeted, criminalized and eliminated certain aspects of the Church: Article 3 (parochial schools), Article 5 (monastic orders), Article 24 (public worship), Article 27 (Church ownership of property), and Article 130 (rights of the clergy).

Catholics quickly reacted with preemptive strikes.

First, the National League for the Defense of Religious Liberty called for a socio-economic boycott – to begin on July 21 – to weaken the regime by paralyzing the nation’s economic base that bolstered the authoritarian administration. The League was an umbrella organization, founded by urbane, intellectual Catholics, in March 1925, dedicated to defending the faith and educating the faithful, in response to the government’s anti-clericalism, an ongoing factor since the Mexican War of Independence (1810-1821).

Second, the Mexican episcopate announced in their Pastoral Letter, of July 25, 1926, that, on July 31, all clergy would withdraw from the churches; otherwise, they would be colluding with the State against the Church. The churches would remain open, if possible, but only under the direction and care of the laity.

Third, to unify and organize activities, the League – defenders of Church and country – held a National Convention at the end of August, in a house on Donceles Street, in the heart of Mexico City, where Rafael Ceniceros y Villarreal (1855-1933), president of the League, addressed those present.

Catholics rebelled in spots, sporadically, against the brutality. Violent skirmishes rose up and died down.

Pointing to an image of a crucified Christ, Ceniceros instructed, “Look, there at the Persecuted One. Even though He was God, He could not do more for us than He did, and, yet, if He were to come down again to preach His Gospel, they would crucify Him again, and, perhaps, with greater bitterness and fury. Are we not doing something for Him in correspondence to His love?”

“Yes!” they all cheered. “Yes!”

“Then let us swear to fight for His cause, until we die or obtain victory!”

“We swear it!” all exclaimed, as they rose from their seats and extended their right arms in Roman salutes, used in Mexico when reciting the pledge of allegiance.

Fourth, in September 1926, the Mexican prelates presented to the two Chambers of the Mexican Congress – the Senate of the Republic and the Chamber of Deputies – a petition that requested a reform of Articles 3, 5, 24, 27 and 130. Days later, 2 million signatures – collected throughout Mexico, mostly by the League – were also delivered to the Chambers, in a show of support for the changes. However, on the 23rd, the Chamber of Deputies rejected the petition, 171 to 1. Their reason: By conspiring with the State of the Vatican City – a so-called foreign entity – the prelates had lost their rights as citizens to petition.

Nonetheless, Calles Law went into effect, and the regime’s religion-hating Revolutionaries began – without restraint – grabbing control of Church property and started persecuting the faithful: arresting, imprisoning, torturing, executing.

In response, Catholics rebelled in spots, sporadically, against the brutality. Violent skirmishes rose up and died down. Armed insurrections – some, aided by the League – grew uncontrollably, continuously. But nothing developed into a cohesive or organized unit. Leaders of the League realized that the militaristic arm of their Movement needed a true commander, a career soldier, with experience, with technical knowledge, with expertise. They needed someone who could rein in and lead the scattered, undisciplined-yet-eager-to-fight Cristero troops.

After contacting several possible contenders – including former Porfiristas, former Revolutionaries and even money-hungry mercenaries – no one expressed interest. Eventually, Bartolome Ontiveros – head of the League’s recently formed War Committee – recommended an old friend of his, an officer formerly with the defunct Federal Army: Gorostieta.

Subsequently, League member Manuel Delgado invited Gorostieta, who presented himself, one day in December 1926, to League president Ceniceros and the Executive Committee. The meeting began at 9 in the morning, stretched past noon, lasted through the afternoon, on into the evening and concluded at 9 that night.

After 12 hours of talks, they found their man, a true tactical warrior.

While away from home, meeting with League members, creating a new path for his life, that of his family, and even for the nation, he wrote to his wife an emotional love letter, dated December 22, 1926. Although filled with Christmas wishes, between the lines, it seemed almost like a farewell letter, filled with longing and anguish and reflections, as he embarked upon his epic journey:

“So that my love and my affection and my veneration cannot be diminished and are worthy of you, I have tried with all my might, to correct and perfect myself. I have increased my moral discipline, to such a degree, that I declare to you (and this is what I offer you today as a gift): That your husband is a clean man, even more so than when I was your boyfriend. That your husband loves you even more than when I, as your fiancé, loved you. And that, today, your husband venerates you and adores you and loves you and desires you and respects you much more, much more than yesteryear when you accepted his love amidst the blushes of a provincial bride and gave him a, ‘Yes,’ that promised paradise. With this confession (your Christmas gift) comes the assurance that I will continue like this, worthy of your virtues and your charms. This is for you, my love.

“For my little children – whom I cannot give a kiss, for whom I cannot buy a ball, whom I cannot, as I did so many times, hold sleeping in my arms – on such a great date for the world, on a day when even the beasts are moved by the Glory, through you, I send them this gift: All the hardships that they suffer, all the pain that you and I endure, are only to obey one end: to bequeath them a path, to mark out a route for them. I know there are smoother paths in the world, and God knows that I know how to walk them. But those are not the ones I will leave marked for them. It is the same rough and gloomy path that their grandfather marked for me. It is the only one that exists, so that one is always happy to finish it and to be able to give an account of the journey. The only one, which, once walked, provides true peace. I give them as a gift the hardships and pains that the path is giving me. Kiss them a lot and do not tire of preventing – not now, but in the years to come – them from losing faith in that path.”

As the war continued, so did formal negotiations between the League and Gorostieta, for his payment and position. Finally, in May 1927, talks between the two resulted in an agreement: Officially, he would join the upper echelon of the National Guard, the fighting force of the Cristero Liberation Movement, in exchange for 3,000 gold pesos that would be delivered each month to his wife, as well as an insurance policy of 20,000 gold pesos, to be paid upon his death. Tragically, his wife would only receive from attorney Luis Alcorta – the representative of the League – three small payments of 50 gold pesos for the first three months of Gorostieta’s participation in the Cristero War, and then, no more. Furthermore, she never received any insurance money after he was killed.

Only three days after Gorostieta and his National Guard contingent first entrenched around Jalpa, the 75th Regiment surrendered.

At the end of July 1927, with discussions finalized, the League officially named Gorostieta the military chief of the Jalisco sector for the Santa Causa, the Holy Cause. His reasons for accepting the position were many, some circumstantial, others ideological. But for the Soldier of Christ, there was one incident that simplified, clarified everything for him: With the rise of the Revolution and the resultant persecution of the Church, the regime had not only forced the Church underground, but it had also uplifted criminality and corruption, supplanting the purity of virtue with the filth of vice.

Gorostieta once shared with fellow Cristero Aurelio Acevedo Robles (1900-68):

“My wife gave me a son. I went out into the streets looking for a priest, who would baptize him for me, and I ran all over the city, until I saw one pass by in a car. I took another car and followed him, until I caught up with him.

“But it happened that during my wanderings in the city, I came across a brothel, with its door opened onto the street and where, from the outside, one could see a degrading and disgusting spectacle: a dance of naked ruffians and prostitutes.

“Then I said to myself: ‘If in my country we are struggling, as I have just done, to find a minister of the Lord who gives us the Sacraments, and, instead, debauchery reigns everywhere, it means that the country is threatened with death by prostitution and crime, and that it is the duty of every Mexican to come to its defense.’ I thought about it and accepted the League’s proposals to fight for God, for the homeland and for freedom.”

Before officially assuming his position and heading to the battlefield, Gorostieta spent his final hours in Mexico City with his loved ones and confirmed that he was going to war out of conviction, in defense of God’s rights. As a family, one last time, they prayed the rosary together, and he blessed and commended to God: his wife, the baby she carried within her womb, and their two young sons, 2-year-old Enrique and 1-year-old Fernando.

Taking command of his troops, in the Highlands of Jalisco, Gorostieta had barely just begun to organize his men – attempting to instill discipline and order, preparing them for war – when they encountered their first battle, on September 14, 1927. Although grossly outnumbered, Gorostieta and his 50 soldiers launched a military offensive and successfully defeated the Callistas, at Mesa del Coyote, outside Jalpa, in the state of Zacatecas, initiating a winning streak that would last nearly 21 months, ending only with his death.

A few weeks later, in October, as he and his soldiers laid siege to nearby Jalpa, Gorostieta put one of his objectives into action: Rather than destroy the enemy, as other military leaders might do, his intention was to break the enemy’s will and to impose his own will.

It worked.

Desperate, Callista General Anacleto Lopez Morales (1884-1970) – the head of operations, in Zacatecas, who commanded the federal column against Gorostieta – sent the following dispatch, a last-ditch signal of distress, intercepted by the Cristeros:

“The few soldiers I have left are surrounded by the rebels in the town of Jalpa. I have no ammunition or money, and the morale of the troops is lost. Many thousands of enemies cover the crests of the mountains surrounding Jalpa; therefore, it is impossible to hold onto this place or leave it, if I do not receive reinforcements of soldiers, money and ammunition for food and war.”

Only three days after Gorostieta and his National Guard contingent first entrenched around Jalpa, the 75th Regiment surrendered. All set free, except one, a particular captain, who had, on August 16, decapitated Cristero Officer Luciano Valdovinos Medina, son of Colonel Teofilo Valdovinos Ruiz, a very popular Cristero present in the skirmish.

After the victorious Battle of Jalpa, while speaking with Colonel Manuel Ramirez de Oliva, a charitable Gorostieta philosophically expressed a heartfelt compassion for his fellow Mexicans, even those he opposed in battle:

“Every man who dies in this war leaves a void in his family and in his country. Whichever side he dies on, the country loses one of its sons. Unfortunately, they have to die. Our people are thirsty for retaliation, and it is very difficult for me to convince them and to control them, so that they do not shoot all the prisoners, imitating our adversaries, because the government has proceeded with cruelty and severity, sacrificing the guilty and the innocent, and many of the Cristeros have seen some of their relatives or friends executed.”

During his first 161 days, he and his Soldiers of Christ – some on horseback, others on foot – covered an exhausting 2,800 miles. Constantly on the move, Gorostieta organized his men the best he could with limited supplies and little communication between League headquarters in the capital city and the battlefields of the back country.

Under the sun all day, every day, his white skin burned red. His light-brown hair and its sun-bleached blond streaks fell over his immense blue eyes. Disciplined and well-groomed, even out on the terrain, he kept his blond beard clipped and clean. His uniform, simple: gray-green riding breeches, with a belt, a dark green woolen cardigan, black sheepskin coat, elegantly cut Chantilly boots and a gun belt with holster. But it was his fedora that became synonymous with the general. Identified by friends and foes alike by the black felt hat always on his head, he became commonly known as “Gorra Prieta,” which translates to “Black Cap,” a clever wordplay on his name Gorostieta.

Gorostieta fully understood the problems that he faced with his untrained, lackadaisical soldiers. To address all the issues, he laid out, in his Circular of December 27, 1927, the brutal truth that honestly portrayed and candidly revealed the dire situation with his men and the war and the changes that needed to be instituted.

As for troops, his consisted of two types:

One comprised of well-educated, refined, scholarly young men, often intellectuals from urban areas, culled from Catholic organizations. The other included mostly illiterate, unwashed, coarse and simple peasants with intense religious beliefs and customs, and who, in the beginning, looked with suspicion upon the general – a cultured man, who did not like to outwardly express his Christian devotion, because of his austere, reserved temperament, reminiscent of the ancient Greco-Roman Stoics.

After Gorostieta had ridden among his troops for nearly six months, he fully understood the problems that he faced with his untrained, lackadaisical soldiers. To address all the issues, he laid out, in his Circular of December 27, 1927, the brutal truth that honestly portrayed and candidly revealed the dire situation with his men and the war and the changes that needed to be instituted:

“In the short time I have been living with our forces, as well as in the various firefights I have had in their company, I have been able to realize that the spirit that animates our soldiers is far from being satisfactory. I have noticed, especially during the marches, a complete lack of will to endure the work and fatigue that a campaign entails. Although we have never lacked the food that the poor people so willingly give us, I have heard complaints. I have observed a complete lack of obedience to the orders of leaders and officers, and in cases where an order was insisted upon, the laziness and delay in complying with it is evident.

“At the time of combat, I have seen and felt that the efforts of some brave and courageous leaders and officers, as well as those of some soldiers, worthy of being called Soldiers of Christ, are dashed by the terror that grips the masses, for whom the efforts of a few are worthless and for whom the emulation and example of the leader are of no use. On the other hand, I have had to see with astonishment that as a matter of course our soldiers are accustomed to spending most of their time at home, that they abandon the ranks under any pretext and wander around in very small groups, easy victims for the enemy. Hardly a single day passes without me receiving a report of a soldier who has been killed, having been caught alone.

“Studying the way to correct all these vices that are destroying the well-deserved reputation acquired by the liberating troops, investigating the cause of this demoralization that threatens to destroy our forces, I believe I can assure that it is due to the lack of care that has been taken in admitting soldiers into our forces. Our forces are no longer made up, as they were at first, of men of faith and deep-rooted beliefs only, but now they only seek to live without working, to be able to practice their vices and even have the opportunity to satisfy those appetites.

“What does the Cause of God matter to these individuals? What does a defeat of our forces mean to them? What about the smile of contempt with which our own friends already greet us? I, as the person in charge of the National Guard for the organization of our forces, as the person responsible to it and to the nation for the moralization of the same, am convinced that we will never achieve victory as long as these conditions do not change and that, if things continue as they have been, we will only succeed in destroying public wealth and taking into account that the reasons given to excuse the current state of things are not reasons, but excuses for vices and even cowardice. To allege as a cause of disobedience that the troops do not receive wages, on the one hand, this should constitute our first pride, and, on the other, it is clear that we have the obligation as citizens to take up arms to defend the public liberties that have been violated and, as Catholics, to obtain the freedom of our Church.

“I would accept as the reason for our disorganization is that we are not soldiers, without trying to become soldiers as soon as possible. Since war is waged with soldiers and only with soldiers, without the firm will to become disciplined soldiers, we do not have the right to shed blood, nor continue destroying property and sowing unrest.

“In order to achieve the moralization of our forces, implanting the indispensable discipline and the necessary obedience in any military organization, thereby reviving the esprit de corps and the combative spirit of our forces, I have decided to make a selection of our troops, which will be carried out in the following manner: Upon receipt of this order, our troops will be informed that, from this date, every individual who wishes to have the honor of becoming a Soldier of Christ must swear the following obligations:

“a) He is obliged to serve for at least six months, without leaving the service, under penalty of being considered a deserter to the enemy.

“b) He is obliged to blindly obey his superiors.

“c) He is obliged not to get drunk while he is a Soldier of Christ.

“d) He is obliged to endure, without any financial reward, all the deprivations that a campaign entails, and under no circumstances may he complain about the poor quality or small quantity of food, or about the excessive fatigue or heavy work.

“e) He is obliged not to murmur against the provisions or orders of his superiors, nor to say anything that could harm the service, upset morale, or cause demoralization among his comrades.

“f) All those who are not willing to take the oath will be discharged, and their weapons and horses will be confiscated.

“g) Each captain will make a nominal list of the individuals who take the oath, noting in it the weapons they have and the ammunition they have, and separately he will make a statement of the surplus weapons and ammunition, resulting from this selection. With this list, they will report to the heads of their respective regiments and these to the headquarters.”

The literary ax worked. Cleared of the deadwood, Gorostieta’s men grew to form a cohesive unit, tactically and ideologically. Peasants, farmers, ranchers, shepherds, college students, priests, tradesmen and others developed into soldiers. Their general taught by example, led by example. Whatever he demanded of his men, he would be the first to do. Wherever he sent his men, he would be the first to go. And when surrounded by danger, he always tried to remain calm for his men, who bonded to him by fraternal – and even, perhaps, filial – affection, not a result of military discipline. He was proud of them, especially of the fact that he never had to shoot any of them for insubordination.

If any of his men did without, so did he. Some days they would eat. Some, they would not. And the general – just like any soldier – suffered from hunger right along with his men. He received no special treatment. If they had anything to eat, it would usually be tortillas and salt. And coffee. Sometimes stewed beans. Occasionally, luckily, they chowed down on some sort of meat, perhaps dried meat, maybe chili – a stew with beans and meat. On special days, for dessert, they puffed on cigars.

Once, while marching, suffering from extreme hunger, many broke formation from the column and rushed into nearby a cactus field, where they devoured edible parts of prickly pear cacti – pads and fruit with skin and all – despite the spines and glochids. Gorostieta stood among them, stuffing his mouth. Another day, the men bought flour to make tortillas from scratch to cook over the flames of the campfires. Everyone except Colonel Manuel Ramirez de Oliva knew how to knead the dough into a ball and spread the malleable mixture to make tortillas, so the general kindly stepped forward and made the flatbread for him.

Military life, a difficult life, an uncomfortable life, filled with hunger, cold and even lice, forcing the men to boil their clothes at each stop along the way. Sometimes, they rode through torrential downpours. Other times, they suffered the intense cold or extreme heat. But Gorostieta never complained, no matter how horrible he felt. He never showed any fatigue, no matter how tired he was. And when it was time to hunker down for the night, like the rest of his men, he simply dropped his horse’s saddlebags on the ground, reclined on those and rested his head on the saddle. Out in the field, blankets were a luxury.

Although comfortable with the discomfort of warfare and surrounded by soldiers who respected and admired him, still, he felt an extreme longing for his family, especially after the birth of his daughter, on January 25, 1928, after which he wrote to his wife:

“I have heard from Luis that you are well and the little ones are with you. I am somewhat crazy to see our little girl. I don’t know what she looks like or what her name is. I must hold on. Blessed be God who has preserved everyone. Take good care of yourself and defend the children. Don’t be discouraged. When you are afraid or tired, pray, pray. This will soon pass, I assure you, and you will have your reward. I have been in admirable health and increasingly confident of the end. Keep an eye on how everything I have said has been happening.

“Don’t let Kiko or Nillo forget me, and give them all, especially the girl, the kisses I send to you.”

As the anniversary of his first year of official duty neared, because of his dedication and outstanding performance, the League’s Executive Committee announced, on July 17, 1928, its decision to elevate him to the position of generalissimo, the supreme general of the Cristeros, effective the following day, July 18.

A common practice for Revolutionary military leaders in Mexico was to print manifestos, political pamphlets expressing their ideology and intentions, following the example of The Communist Manifesto, a hate-filled rant by the “Father of Communism,” Karl Marx (1818-83), and his collaborator, Friedrich Engels (1820-95), published in 1848.

After his promotion, Gorostieta started working on his manifesto, the Plan of the Highlands, inspired, perhaps, by one of the world’s most famous and esteemed manifestos: the God-based Declaration of Independence, written by 33-year-old American Founding Father, Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826), ratified on July 4, 1776, and later described by the 16th president, Abraham Lincoln (1809-65), as “a rebuke and a stumbling-block to tyranny and oppression.”

Gorostieta composed his with the ideals of the Cristero Liberation Movement, such as: the protection of all people, the freedom of all people, the end of the prejudicial 1917 Constitution and the restoration of the 1857 Constitution. With assistance from Miguel Palomar y Vizcarra (1880-1968), who helped with the initial draft, Gorostieta reviewed, revised and signed the final version, to be published the same day as the public declaration of his leadership, on October 28, 1928, the last Sunday in October, the consecration of the Feast of Christ the King.

“I will continue with you, as before. As before, I will suffer hunger and thirst with you. As always, I will fight at your side. I urge you to hear from all sides and at all times only our battle cry: Long live Christ the King! Long live the Virgin of Guadalupe! Death to the bad Government!”

In his manifesto for the Santa Lucha, the Holy Struggle, he began: “For more than a year, the Mexican people, fed up with the shameful tyranny of Calles and his supporters, took up arms to take back the freedoms that these despots have taken away from them, especially religious freedom and freedom of conscience.”

The reason for the fight, he explained, was “summed up in this single word: FREEDOM. Freedom of conscience and religion, freedom of education, freedom of association, freedom of work, freedom of the press: all the freedoms!”

And he ended with: “I will continue with you, as before. As before, I will suffer hunger and thirst with you. As always, I will fight at your side. As always, I will demand loyalty and obedience, courage and self-denial. As before, I offer to you to go to the end, and, as before, for the only reward: the satisfaction of fulfilling your duty. Have courage, victory is near, and, now, more than ever, this is true. I urge you to hear from all sides and at all times only our battle cry: Long live Christ the King! Long live the Virgin of Guadalupe! Death to the bad Government!”

In conjunction with his declaration, the League’s Executive Committee signed an agreement, joining forces with the Feminine Brigades of Saint Joan of Arc (Las Brigadas Femeninas de Santa Juana de Arco) – comprised of mothers, wives, daughters, girlfriends and sisters of Cristeros.

Gorostieta appreciated help from the women, who funneled to the men in camps and on the battlefield much-needed supplies: food, guns and bullets, often pilfered from federal barracks and the National Arms Factory, in Mexico City. But, the commingling of the soldiers with the women sometimes caused problems. However, Gorostieta – a man of strong convictions – always reined in his passions and controlled his impulses; after all, he had priorities: his faith and his family.

However, there was the occasional misunderstanding, such as that with Josefina “Pina” Carmona, a 21-year-old woman, from San Esteban, in Jalisco, who threw herself at the general in an emotional scene filled with histrionics, witnessed by his aide, Major Heriberto Navarrete Flores (1903-1987), who was courting Pina’s sister, 19-year-old Ana Maria Carmona.

While riding along on horseback, side by side, Navarrete and Gorostieta discussed the dramatic incident, in which the general rejected the woman, never touching her.

Navarrete mentioned, “I know that Pina could have thought that it was up to her to make the first move, and, in that case, it would be difficult to find a man capable of resisting the provocation of a girl like her.”

“Well, you’ve already found him,” Gorostieta boasted. “She declares an irresistible desire to live in my company. She is ready for anything and fears nothing. You will have guessed my answer. With much sympathy and compassion, I tried to reassure her. I told her that her plan was absurd for obvious reasons. First of all, I am the highest representative of our Movement, which is an enterprise of resonance, not only at the national level but also throughout the world, in which the details of our struggle are followed. But this is not the most important consideration for me. The fact that I am a married man, that I adore my wife and my three children, and that the day I find them again, God forbid that I be filled with shame when I present myself before them, carrying on my conscience the very shadow of infidelity.”

Navarrete responded, “I admire you much more now than when we were together resisting an enemy attack, or marching on a line of fire, or eagerly pursuing the Callistas.”

“I am a born soldier. My youth was joyful, and I took full advantage of it. But there is not a single person in the world who could justly make me lower my eyes in shame for having soiled the honor of my name. Never has my conscience been sullied by an act of baseness or moral disgrace.”

“A beautiful heritage for your children,” Navarrete complimented.

“My ambition is higher. I do not say that the happiness of the home – based on the warm affection and mutual esteem of the father, children, husband and wife – is not sufficient in itself to live in peace and contentment. But my aims are of another order. The esteem of my country identified with my own, and, finally, the respect and reverence for God and His Law. I have sacrificed the pleasures of family life, in a loving and exemplary family like mine, but there are values much higher than that. There are values, which, to be well understood, must not be neglected and their safeguarding requires heroism: the sacrifice of one’s own happiness in life.”

As autumn turned to winter, in 1929, some 30,000 troops of the Constitutionalist Army grumbled about the unhappy state of affairs after the inception of the Maximato, so-called for Calles’ sobriquet “El Jefe Maximo,” the “Supreme Leader.” For the true master behind the presidential throne was Calles, who continued his stranglehold on power, even after he appointed Emilio Candido Portes Gil (1890-1978) president of Mexico, sworn in on December 1, 1928.

To destroy the politically incestuous Bolshevik regime, the government’s rebellious troops began to secretly organize, as General Jose Gonzalo Escobar (1892-1969) – the chief mastermind of the plot to overthrow the Portes dedocracia – drafted his Plan of Hermosillo.

Two weeks before the premeditated rebellion broke out, Escobar signed a pact with representatives of Gorostieta, who had approved the agreement and then issued Circular Order Number 5, stating that the deal was agreed upon due to the “solemn commitment on the part of the new movement to grant all the freedoms that we have been demanding, especially freedom of conscience and education, and the full recognition of the National Guard...recognized as an entity, which guarantees that it will not thwart our victory and that our Party will have, for the first time since 1857, all kinds of guarantees to develop its political-social action.”

As the regime’s Constitutionalist Army headed north to put down the rebellion of its own troops, the Cristeros headed toward Guadalajara, with the intention of taking over the city, which would be its first urban victory. For although the Cristeros had achieved success after success in the countryside, inflicting defeat after defeat upon the Revolutionary troops, all cities remained under federal control.

However, the Escobar Rebellion was short-lived and soon smashed, lasting only from March 3 to April 30, 1929, forcing the Cristeros to back away from Guadalajara.

And then, just days later, in May 1929, rumors of a possible agreement between Church and State reached incredulous Cristeros on the battlefield.

Exiled Archbishop Leopoldo Ruiz y Flores (1865-1941) had made a public statement, in Washington, D.C. The authorized representative of the Vatican, who was also the archbishop of Michoacan, the head of the Mexican Roman Catholic hierarchy, and the leading voice of the Church in Mexico for more than 25 years, was quoted as saying:

“The Catholic Church in Mexico asks no privilege, but asks only that on the basis of an amicable separation of Church and State it be permitted the liberty which is indispensable to the well-being and happiness of Mexico. The religious conflict in Mexico arises from no cause that cannot be corrected by men of sincerity and good will.”

Subsequently, a front-page story in the May 8, 1929, edition of the New York Times, reported on the response of Portes:

“If Archbishop Ruiz desires to discuss with me a way to bring about the cooperation in a moral effort, for the benefit of the Mexican people, which he desires, I shall be glad to talk with him on the subject.”

The public comments followed a long series of secret negotiations conducted by representatives of the Church and of the State at the urging and manipulation of Dwight Whitney Morrow (1873-1931), following his appointment, in 1927, as Ambassador of America to Mexico. Not only was he tasked to remedy the steady influx of Mexicans crossing the border into the United States, a result of the Revolutionary government’s constant and violent upheaval, but he was also tapped to help end the religious war by negotiating peace between the two rival factions, which had endured a three-year kulturkampf, a culture war between the sacred and the secular: The Church wanted freedom of religion. The State wanted observance of all laws in Mexico, even the anti-Catholic laws.

Morrow suggested a modus vivendi, an agreement to live together peacefully.

Livid about the negotiations, Gorostieta wrote a letter, dated May 16, 1929, from a metaphoric, symbolic “El Triunfo,” “The Triumph,” to the bishops, some of whom had been negotiating with the government without consulting the National Guard, the men who, literally, risked their lives, every day.

In what would be regarded by some as the most important public document that he ever wrote – the irate general brutally argued against the arreglos, the possible arrangements between the Church and State. A few paragraphs from the whole reveal Gorostieta’s deep frustration and resentment:

“Since our struggle began, the national press, and even the foreign press, has not ceased to periodically deal with possible arrangements between the so-called government and some prominent member of the Mexican episcopate, to end the religious problem. Whenever such a thing has appeared, the men in the struggle have felt a chill of death invade them, a thousand times worse than all the dangers they have decided to face, worse, much worse than all the bitterness they have had to endure. Every time the press tells us of a bishop who may be a parliamentarian with Callismo, we feel like a slap in the face, all the more painful as it comes from someone from whom we could expect consolation, a word of encouragement in our struggle, encouragement and consolation that, with only one honorable exception, we have received from no one…

“There are many and very diverse reasons we believe that we have for the National Guard, and not the episcopate, to be the one to resolve this situation. Of course, the problem is not purely religious, this is an integral case of freedom, and the National Guard has, in fact, constituted itself as the defender of all freedoms and as the genuine representation of the people, because the support that the people give us is what has made us survive; this is undeniable.

“On the contrary, the bishops, distant for whatever reason from the country, have lived these years disconnected from the national life, ignorant of the transformations that this stage of bitter struggle the people have suffered, and, therefore, incapable of representing them in an act of such transcendence. It is a lie that an authority constituted before the struggle can by its own right drag an entire people to suffer the consequences of its criteria. It is the people themselves who need representation. It is the popular will that must be consulted. It is the feeling of the people that must be taken into consideration, of these poor people of ours who fight in their own country against a handful of bastards who hide behind a mountain of elements of destruction and torture.”

However, the letter never reached the episcopate. It disappeared after placed in the hands of League intriguers, who deliberately delivered the dispatch to a minor sub-commission of citadinos ligueros, League city dwellers, civilians that the Generalissimo detested, because they never entered battlefields and shed their blood for the Guerra Cristera, the Cristero War.

A flustered Father Jose Aristeo Pedroza (1900-1929) backed his general and wrote to the Archbishop:

“You declared three years ago that the armed defense against the tyranny of Calles was legal. Do not deliver your sheep to the executioner’s blade,” requested the parish priest of Arandas, a Soldier of Christ with the rank of brigadier general, renowned for his moral and military discipline, reputed to be idealistic, and rumored to have kept his vow of chastity while a soldier.

On May 19, 1929, three days after writing the letter to the bishops, Gorostieta resolved to counter the flood of federal troops flowing into Michoacan by strengthening Cristero defense positions.

Despite the urging of Gorostieta and other Cristeros not to do so, the talks between Church and State continued.

And so, too, the war, which had heated up in Michoacan. Federal forces started pouring into the state, in the general direction of Coalcoman, nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Madre del Sur mountain range. Heading the operations was the talented military man General Lazaro Cardenas del Rio (1895-1970), the governor of Michoacan, who would eventually be elevated to the Mexican presidency, in 1934, and force Calles into exile.

On May 19, 1929, three days after writing the letter to the bishops, Gorostieta resolved to counter the flood of federal troops flowing into Michoacan by strengthening Cristero defense positions. He appointed trusted ally General Alfonso Carrillo Galindo as the regional chief of that state and decided to escort – with a small contingent of loyalists – Carrillo to his new locale, to help create a civil infrastructure for him.

En route, after riding through dry and dusty road conditions – that gave Gorostieta a severe case of conjunctivitis – the rainy season blew in, drenching troops and horses. The retinto that the general rode threw him, and after that, he seemed jittery and uncomfortable.

On Sunday, June 2, 1929, the group woke up early on the slopes of Cerro del Proano, a mystical and enchanted flat-topped hill, where tales persisted that on Good Friday, ringing bells could be heard inside a large rock. After rising, they continued on, until 9 that morning, when the 20 men arrived at the San Jose del Valle Hacienda, an 18th-century structure, decaying, abandoned by its owners, plundered, surrounded by a strategically disadvantaged plain, about 20 miles southwest of the city proper of Atotonilco el Alto.

Exhausted from the long and arduous journey, the men entered the patio, where they dropped the saddles, removed the bridles, fed and watered their horses, and then sat down to enjoy mounds of sweet bread and jugs of fresh milk that they purchased from the hotel.

Before taking a room next to the hall, where he could rest his body and his eyes, Gorostieta ordered for himself and his men a meal of tatemada and goat meat, which would take most of the day to prepare. Some of his men then strolled to a small shop in front of the hacienda. Others climbed to the roof, where they could keep watch.

Only 65 minutes after arriving at the hacienda, the solo lookout posted in the turret sounded an alarm. He had spotted the vanguard of the 300-strong 42nd Cavalry Regiment of the Constitutionalist Army, headed by Major Placido Nungaray Garza. Slowly the column of men and horses rose out of the ravine where a dirt road led from behind some adobe shacks in front of the hacienda. The line of troops lazily approached.

One of the Cristeros from the door of the hacienda’s shop fired his pistol at them. Another, Colonel Rodolfo Loza Marquez, dashed inside. Federal troops noticed that he carried a saracof helmet, common among the government’s military, and thought that the men inside the hacienda may actually be their agrarista allies, headed by General Saturnino Cedillo Martinez (1890-1939), of Potosi.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” one of the federals yelled.

Confused, orders of do not shoot stopped the firing until one of the Cristeros yelled, “Viva Cristo Rey!” which ignited the volley of shots, startling the horses, who reared up, and made it difficult to throw saddles and bridles on them.

Up and calculating the danger, Gorostieta called for his horse and ordered: “We must leave here in whatever way. Everyone, mount immediately. Let’s leave before they surround us!”

“I am Enrique Gorostieta,” uttered the Cristero general, his last words before Quiroz raised his 7mm and shot him in the head, nearly at point-blank range.

After his horse arrived late, he quickly mounted, grabbed his large, pure silver, Taxquena crucifix in his hand, looked at it and galloped full speed, but was met with a barrage of bullets, downing his retinto. On foot, he scrambled back through the gate entrance of the hacienda, still firing his .45-caliber semi-automatic Spanish Star pistol.

“Those filthy men killed my horse,” he said, indignant.

“What do we do, my General?” one of his men asked.

“Fight like the brave, and die like men!” he answered.

Surrounded, they fought with determination.

Taking advantage of a breach in the enemy’s line and slipping through, Gorostieta’s aide, Navarrete, along with Colonel Rodolfo Loza Marquez and a soldier named Jesusillo escaped on foot through an orange grove.

With his Spanish Star in hand, Gorostieta followed close behind, but he ran into Chihuahua soldier Gilberto Ponce Villa, barely 22 years old, who had the advantage and pointed his 7mm machine gun at the general.

Gorostieta dropped his pistol, raised his hands and submitted, offering, “I surrender.”

While approaching the prisoner to search him, Ponce was spooked by a movement. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger and opened fire, hitting Gorostieta in the chest, wounding, but not killing him.

Second Lieutenant Benito Quiroz Luna rapidly approached.

“I am Enrique Gorostieta,” uttered the Cristero general, his last words before Quiroz raised his 7mm and shot him in the head, nearly at point-blank range.

After the remaining Cristeros were taken into custody, federal soldiers dragged the body of the single Cristero casualty, a soldier stripped of his boots.

“Who is he?” asked Nungaray, head of the attacking column.

No one answered.

“What, don’t you know him?” he asked.

One Cristero stepped forward.

“It is General Gorostieta.”

--------------------------------------------------

Loaded into a special railcar, Number 10,571, and guarded by federal Major Sostenes Garcia, along with an escort of 20 men, the body of Gorostieta arrived at the Colonia Station, on June 5, 1929. Received by his brother-in-law, the body was transported to the Rivera Gorostieta home in Atzcapotzalco. For two days and two nights, priests offered continuous Masses, around the clock, until June 7, when the general was buried.

The epitaph on his tombstone: He was a Christian, a patriot, a soldier and a gentleman. He had one ideal in his life and died for it: God, Homeland and Freedom.

Soon after the death of her husband, Tulita received a letter in the mail. It was his last letter, dated May 17, 1929, and sent on May 30, in which he described the cause that he defended as one “of honor and justice” and a “sacred duty.”

But his typewritten epistle also included a most haunting line, intended to calm her fears about the dangers he faced daily in his life: “What I want you to remember is the idea that I will no longer be exposed to bullets.”

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

“El Automovil de los Tratados de Teoloyucan,” by Historico Teoloyucan.

“El Nino Testigo de Cristo Rey: Jose Sanchez del Rio, Martir Cristero,” by Luis Laurean Cervanates.

“La Constitucion de los Cristeros,” by Vicente Lombardo Toledano.

“La Cristiada: Los Cristeros III,” by Jean Meyer.

“Le Generalissime Cristero Gorostieta: L’Homme, le Militaire et le Heros Tome I,” by Juan Pablo Herrera Castro.

“Mejico Cristero: Historia de la ACJM 1925 a 1931,” by Antonio Rius Facius.

“Santiago de Xalpa Mineral: La Historia de un Pueblo,” by Hector Pascual Gomez Soto.

“Viva Cristo Rey! The Cristero Rebellion and the Church-State Conflict in Mexico,” by David C. Bailey.