Royalists and Criminals- The Congos Gang Scene

[Kelly the Mad]

After the Congolese Peoples Guard took control of the Congo, and Emperor Gowon rose to power, they were left in an odd power vacuum. They dominated the criminal underworld in the nation, but their primary objective had been achieved. Many were recruited into the government and armed forces, but they were far too numerous to all be trained and equipped. So, many of the members left the group and rejoined urban society. They now permeate the cities, and those who served in the CPG have extreme favor when looking for jobs, the group's connections from the capitalist elite to army officers, to the gang members who still prowl the streets. Many have adopted tattoos on their forearm that show their affiliation, the standard being a five-point star with a skull adorning the peak.

However, not everyone left the gang. With a power vacuum growing, the CPG finally divided into two main denominations, as well as a handful of smaller organizations. The first and largest denomination, still widely respected nationwide, is now known as the Royal Lions. They remain closely loyal to Emperor Gowon, and he maintains close communications. They are led by the Emperor's own brother, Mosi Gowon, better known as The Pangolin. The new generation joining this gang has adopted a seven-point star tattoo adorned with a crown mimicking that of the Emperors. Those who formerly served in the CPG bear the original Five-point star on their left forearm and the new seven-point on their right. They are respected and sometimes admired by the general populace, being seen as a benevolent force keeping them safe. They are generally poorly armed, utilizing old weapons that were already heavily used before the CPG even came around.

While the Royal Lions gained traction off of the good reputation of the CPG, another major power rose to prominence- the Iron Watch. They are largely led by white Romanian immigrants who came over after the fall of their dictatorship. They played a major role in funding the CPG, but were distrusted by the people and as such were rejected from joining the Congolese military. Robbed of what they believed was their reward for fighting alongside the Emperor, they began to attack other members of the gang. When the Royal Lions officially formed, the Romanians split off and formed the “Iron Watch”, a play-off of the old Romanian Iron Guard nationalist party.

Their weaponry is far more modern and well maintained, the majority of it being surplus shipped overseas following the collapse of Romania's army and airforce. Using this and their formal military training, they have made themselves a deadly fighting force on the streets of the capital city and elsewhere, competing closely with the Royal Lions. While led by Romanians, the bulk of their fighting force is made up of local Congolese, mostly new recruits and a smaller portion of CPG veterans. They have also adopted their own marking, a five-point star with chains crisscrossing over it. These are similarly applied to the right forearm.

Aside from these two major powers that emerged, there were also a handful of other divergent groups. The East Covenant is a small group of former CPG soldiers who have abandoned politics and petty crime, taking on the role of professional killers and businessmen. They own casinos and clubs across Kinshasa, as well as multiple regional soccer clubs. Their business practices are ruthless, and when needed they use their own hitmen to get what they want. Their signature tattoo, in conflict with the accepted style, is a simple line going from wrist to elbow.

Another group is known as The Pistols. They very slowly split off, forming just before the major break in the CPG and coming into conflict with them early in their lifetime. They believe that the African people are superior in their own land and that any whites or other races do not belong. Compared to other groups, they are lightly armed, but targeted killings and getaways are far more common. They generally avoid large-scale conflicts, preferring to stay out of the public eye. They see beyond allegiances, killing any foreigners they find, whether they be civilians, Royal Lions, Iron Watch, or government officials. While an enemy of most armed groups, many civilians support their mission, though this is by no means universal. Their mark is a five-point star displaying a Leopard at its center.

 

[Kelly the Mad]

Lionel walked down the crowded market street with a smooth step, making friendly conversation as he went. The AK-47 swung around him served not to bring fear, but reassure the people of their security, punctuated by the five-point star and skull on his forearm. He shook hands, gave polite kisses, and bumped heads with former CPG members he saw. A group of maybe a dozen young men in long sleeves walked into the street from a side alley.

"Hey, how are you boys doing?" Said Lionel, gesturing towards them, conscious of his old age and slowly greying hair.

Without responding, the boys pulled up their sleeves, revealing a single tattoo on their right forearm: A star wrapped in chains. Before he could react, the first two men pulled out Uzis. He hit the ground, and in the same moment, his soul slipped from his body.

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The Lions in the area had their rifles shouldered within seconds. Most of the assailants had fled for cover, but two of them were cut down before they could get out of the way. They pulled out a variety of weapons, Uzis, compact rifles, sawed-off shotguns, high power revolvers. As the street erupted into chaos, both sides popped shots at what they believed were potential combatants. Civilians scattered in all directions, some running directly into the line of fire.

After much of the street was clear of movement, the firing escalated, raking potential soft hiding places, success only proven by a thud or scream of pain. Blood pooled over the dusty street, as weary heads peeked out from around corners only to be blown to pieces by a rifle round. At a certain point, the two sides began to blur together, and due to a lack of distinguishing features, it became an indiscriminate slaughter. More fighters came in from a wider area, joining in and bringing a small semblance of order to the battle. They climbed onto the roofs of nearby residences, taking potshots at those on the ground below them. The fight spread to nearby streets until eventually the whole of Lingwala Commune was enveloped in fighting.

Police forces were called up and came in guns blazing, systematically clearing houses. While highly effective in small areas, facing such widespread violence they were useless and eventually recalled after nearly seventy percent of their manpower had been injured in some way. The killing escalated even further, gang members flooding in from around the city, lasting from midday to the later hours of the night. As dawn drew near, the army finally got involved. With Leopard II tanks rolling through the narrow streets at around 600 hours, fighters scattered, carrying their wounded and leaving behind their dead.

The unprecedented eighteen hours of intense street fighting shocked many within the government and the general population. After a day's investigation, it was determined that the conflict was started by members of the Iron Watch attacking the Royal Lions. This escalated quickly, and by the time the fighting was over swathes of the city were pockmarked by bullets and soaked in blood.

A final tally of the dead would be taken, using tattoos as identification. In the end, 112 members of the Iron Guard were killed, 232 Royal Lions, 46 civilians, and 28 police officers. Those dead who were not claimed by family members or gang members would be buried en mass under perfectly smooth and nondescript grave markers. The flag over the National Diet would fly at half mast.

 

[Kelly the Mad]

As the sun set on the city, the gang activity had dramatically shifted from where it had been two years ago. The Iron Watch had launched dozens of other offensives in major cities, clashing with the Royal Lions until finally, the loyalist faction retreated away from the cities. They dominated the country, demanding a mix of fear and disgust from every person they came across. Petty criminals flocked to their side, offered pay and free reign of any goods or women they could get their hands on. The police forces were useless against them, the gangsters being better armed than them, their weapons made only a few years ago for the Romanian army. Being a police officer was a dangerous job, and over the course of two years, their numbers had plummeted from over 100,000 to only 40,000, with 2,000 being killed in action over this time period. Crime was at an all-time high, and no one felt safe anywhere in the country.

Thats when the Special Police Unit was established. 50,000 strong, they were trained as soldiers, and they fought like them too. Within the first month, the Iron Watch's population around the country - starting off at 130,000 men, all armed, all criminals - fell sharply to just 110,000. Through an aggressive street campaign, SPU officers would descend upon occupied regions of major cities in covered trucks, jumping out of the backs and laying fully into the gangsters, killing them by the dozen as they walked the streets with their weapons and gang affiliation clearly shown. The SPU was unique in the Congo- they did not offer opportunities for former CPG members to join. They checked every recruit for gang affiliations and would immediately reject them if they had any. They were a tool for Muhammed Onwudiwe, his ultimate weapon to finally wrench control of the nation from the long dead, though that was not known to the public, Emperor.

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He lay perfectly still under the blue tarp, in the bed of a truck, the tailgate dropped, peering through a tear in the synthetic material. Down the long winding market street, dozens of men were finally starting to creep out from the cover of stalls and alleyways. They were armed. Maybe it was a drug deal, an arms deal, a meeting to gamble or simply drink together. That didnt matter to him. He waited as they kept emerging. First ten. Then twenty. Thirty. Finally, by the time he figured they were all in the open, he counted forty five. He pulled back the charging handle, and let loose a stream of .50 calibre bullets from his tripod mounted machine gun into them. While some scattered, several stayed in the open, bringing their weapons to bear on him. They were cut down in turn. He turned his attention to the raggedy stalls from which he was recieving fire. He heard the pinging of bullets on sheet metal as the truck he was in took bullets. Too close. Too late. He fired into the wood structures, sending produce to bits, throwing splinters of wood into the air, and silencing the guns. He saw more gangsters turn the corner, heading towards the sound of gunfire. He took his time, lining them up, and blowing them to the ground. He radioed into local command.

"Contact made. Approx 50 targets incapacitated. Suggesting we proceed with stage 2. Over."

Across the city, thousands of other SPU officers were participating in similar slaughters. Stage 1: Cause chaos and panic within the gangs. Draw them out for open combat. He listened as machine guns rattled throughout the city. On a calm saturday night, near 1am, the city woke up to the universal sound of death throughout every neighborhood, subdivision, region. Kinshasa was ablaze.

Stage 2. A squadron of APCs rolled down the narrow streets, each with machine guns turned to either side. They came to where he had fired, adding their own armaments to the destruction, tearing into homes and alleys nearby. They rolled over bodies without a worry, crushing bones and maiming those who werent yet dead. One stopped, and from the rear disgorged a fire team that rushed into a nearby building. After a rudementary check via gunfire through a wooden wall, they rolled an incendiary grenade through the entrance and into the home.

---​

The skyline lit up as flames licked up into the night, an apocalyptic scene. It brought a striking resemblence to the burning of Moscow in 1812 by its own people. He gazed up at the plumes of ash rising into the sky. The red glow of the city painted the facade of the imperial palace like an ominous, evil being, looming over the dead below. He could see gunfire across the city, explosions, armored cars, tiny looking in the distance, rolling through the streets, bringing death and slaughter. An aide came to his side. He whispered in his ear. It had been done. The status quo was upturned.

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The counter terrorism unit had been sitting, watching the building for days. it was 12:30 at night, just prior to phase 1. The city was still quiet. They looked out at a massive, sweeping skyscraper, one of the largest in the country. The base of operations for the higher ups of the Iron Watch. It was go time. The lights mounted to the cieling of the decrepid apartment they were stationed in turned red. Then flashed orange. Finally, they turned a pale yellow and faded out. They immediately rushed out of the buildings. Immediately a team of about 80 men breached the front doors, simple glass they broke through with the butts of their rifles, ordering the desk staff out. Then they pu the elevators out of service, and finally began making their way up the staircases, leaving about 20 men behind to guard the only exits. They exited on the 7th floor, leaving behind men to guard the staircase.

Coming out into a long hallway, they planted an explosive charge on all of the doors. The first door war breached. A flash charge went out, and officers stormed the room, laying down gunfire. From outside, the floor to ceiling window could be seen shattering and falling to the pavement below in pieces, followed by a body. The officers left the bloody, glass covered room as quickly as they had came. The next room. The same story. Another five dead. The next room. As soon as the charge went off, gunfire came from the doorway- too dangerous. A radio call was made. Heard across the city, an Mi-24 helicopter gunship, armed with four small calibre gunpods, churned the room into a mess of bloody mist and destroyed furnishings. Next room. On and on until they cleared the floor.

They would repeat this for the next 23 floors, tearing the building apart, slaughtering those within. Finally, they stormed the top floor. Power to the building was cut, a smoke screen was laid out, and nerve gas was deployed. Thermal sights and gas masks went on. The men charged forward, using rubber bullets to fold the upper officers of the organization. Pinned to the ground, they were handcuffed and hog tied. Joined by the other high ranking prisoners siezed, they were evacuated to the rooftop, where an Mi-6 helicopter waited for the counter-terrorism force and their prisoners. The captives were thown haphazardly into the floor of the cargo bay as the officers strapped in for the ride to the top secret Funga 001 building. The home of Bintu, the most feared man in the empire.

The attack helicopter, done with its job securing the building, would join two others with the same machine gun focused armament in sweeping low over rooftops and providing close air support against gangster holdouts. Approaching an overpass which was securely in gangsters hands, using a connection to dozens of alleyways to keep officers at bay, the gunship make quick work. Concrete flew from the supports as thousands of rounds slammed into the area, kicking up a massive cloud of debris. After a sustained bombardment of twenty seconds on each side of the overpass from four gunpods and all internally mounted guns, the overpass was easily seized by officers.

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The sun rose slowly, solemnly, as if it knew itself that a tragedy had occured overnight. For thousands in the city, that sunrise would never be seen with clouded over eyes. Smoke still drifted up in thin tendrils, but the fire department had gotten it mostly under control. Out of the cities very few skyscrapers, three were turned into hollow shells by counter terrorism and gunships. The gunfighting had faded as morning came, the gangsters retreating into hiding, however helicopter gunships still strafed entire neighborhoods believed to be harboring gangsters. Lining every road outside of the city, battle tanks formed roadblocks, their cannons trained down the road towards oncoming traffick. Every man, woman and child passing in or out of the city was searched, although usually it only took a glance at the forearm to identify their targets. The trench next to the road filled with bodies and the forming scrapyard of hundreds of bullet ridden vehicles pushed out into the adjacent field told of the effeciency of the checkpoint.

Bodies littered the streets. Blood ran through the drainage ditches like after a light rain. People stayed inside, even if they had work to get to. The country stopped in time. No one moved out of fear as the SPU wreaked havoc throughout.

After one night. One single night. 90,000 people dead. Violence on a scale unseen in peacetime since the partitioning of india in the '40s. 65,000 Iron Watch members were dead, their entire command structure dead or captured, and the remainder of their membership were either greivously wounded and out of action, or had thrown down their weapons in fear and tried to cut their tattoos off of themselves. The organization had collapsed. An estimated 5,000 criminals and other gangsters had also been killed, in addition to 10,000 prisoners who were executed in their cells in the various prisons across the country. The remaining 10,000 were innocent civilians, cought in the crossfire of the attacks.

The next night, the streets were silent as the SPU recalled the bulk of its force. Only a small overwatch team of 5,000 men stood on street corners, watching over the bodies that lay in piles and ditches, too many to bury in the city, with city limits still being blockaded, they would rot there. Soon, rain came, and the stinking bodies rolled deeper and deeper into muddy, running water and ditches, slowly burying them over weeks, tearing flesh from the bone. Everyone around the city was forced to wear face coverings due to the stench and risk of disease.

Similar happenings occured on smaller scales across the country. Every city with an ounce of gang violence found itself littered with bodies and shell casings. Shell casings which, if collected and sold back to the government, could make the collectors a nifty profit. Searching through burnt buildings, along active roadways, and sifting through the filth of rotting bodies, they collected the thousands of high caliber shells dropped by attack helicopters and machine guns throughout the cities.

The Regent had made the new Empire known.