Cursed

Cursed
==Prologue==
"I got it. So you gonna pay me 1,000 credits?"
"Here it is right now. You make the call with us here and if you try to inform on us so you can get a reward from them, I'll make sure you don't get the chance to spend any of that money, understand?"
Captain Frank Thompson smiled as the disheveled occupant of the one-floor house on the small town street a card nodded vigorously. He withdraw a gold-colored card for 1,000 UN Credits and handed it to the occupant, who placed it in the pocket of his jeans and withdrew his Chatter, an old piece with a cracked screen and rubberized case that had seen better days.
Thompson motioned with his hand. "Go ahead."
The man raised the chatter up to his ear and he could hear the faint female voice of the dispatcher on the other end of the line. He put on a panicked voice, shaking and sounding as if he was about to cry.
"Yes, I'm...I'm at 2612 Lakeview Street, and there's men walking through the forest in my backyard, they're heavily armed...I need help now please. Yes, I think they're rebels. Please, just send help, they look like they're about to enter some houses. Just get here now. Yes, I'll stay on the line."
The man looked up at Thompson and nodded. He looked back at his men and pointed to one. "Stay here." he mouthed to him. He jerked his thumb back towards the backyard and pointed two fingers at two of his men wearing particularly large rucksacks, and began walking out toward the creekbed that lay across the street as the two ran towards the backyard. 
He finally spoke again in a hushed tone. "The bastards'll be coming down and surrounding the house. Fisher, set up the 247 and once those two's explosives go off, rake it back and forth, aim low, I don't wanna punch this poor guy's house full of holes.
"Sir." Fisher said as he reached into one of his webbing's pouches and withdrew a well-worn camouflage net as the rest of his team wrestled the M247L into position, the barrel peeking out over the lip of the top of the creek bed. As they lowered themselves flat to the ground, Fisher lay the camo net over them, before himself taking a prone position on the creek bed. He curled his lip in voluntary disgust as he did so, the creekbed was moist from the rain the day before.
"Hear that?" Thompson spoke with a macabre grin spreading across his face. The squad quieted and in the distance they heard sirens. "Must have really hooked the big fish today. Load weapons."
Fisher brought up his MA3A and unsafetied the weapon with an audible click, looking over as his team fed a brand-new belt of bright brass and copper cartridges into the machine gun, pulling the bolt back with a clack as similar sounds came from the rest of the squad.
And then the waiting came. Stultifying, boring waiting as the sirens drew closer and closer for what seemed like an eternity. Thompson looked down at his digital watch. It had only been four minutes. He looked back up as two men slid into the creek bed. 
"Explosives got set, they're ready to go off when you give the command Captain."
"Good. Response for stuff like this seems to be around seven minutes. Get the detonator ready."
"Sir."
The sirens drew closer and closer by the second. After what seemed like another eternity Thompson popped up with his binoculars, raised them to his face, and quickly collapsed back to the ground. "Here they come, get that detonator ready on my mark."
Suddenly, several squad cars and heavily armored vans pulled up at the house, one of the vans revving and swerving wildly towards the rear of the house as it pulled onto the lawn, leaving deep tire marks in the turf. The rear doors swung open of the remaining van and out stepped men in green uniforms with UNSC-issued body armor emblazoned with 'MILITIA' and MA5s, as similar-looking men stepped out of the squad cars. 
"Smoke 'em."
A second passed, and suddenly a massive explosion erupted beyond the house, throwing a massive plume of dirt, pieces of tree, and what Fisher presumed to be body parts up high above the ground. The ground shook and Fisher felt a slight ringing in his ears. But that was soon overwhelmed by the burst of machine gun fire from his team on his right and the rifle fire from the rest of his squad. Fisher fired several rounds at the officers attempting to scramble for cover before turning his attention elsewhere.
He screamed as loud as his lungs would allow. "Aim low, keep the fuckers from getting close to the house or getting behind cover, but aim low!"
The gunner quickly nodded, or at least what Fisher interpreted as a nod, and began raking back and forth. Turning his gaze forward, he saw small puffs of dirt and instacrete popping up around the officers as some stumbled, others fell, and still others threw themselves on the ground and attempted to return fire. Bullets whizzed over the heads of the Gilgameshans, but they were too high, too low, or swung left or right, nowhere near the squad. 
"Let's finish them off!" screamed Thompson, standing up firing at the remaining militia. "Advance!"
"You heard the Cap, let's go!"
Fisher's machine gunner slung his machine gun across one shoulder as he stood up alongside his ammo bearer, and began advancing the distance, the remainder of the squad following behind him, firing so as to give the gunner a wide berth as he continued raking the enemy with fire, disregarding the command to aim low as he neutralized those who came around the corners of the house from the backyard, those who had survived.
As they reached the halfway point of crossing the street, the fire had stopped. "Cease fire! Cease fire!" Thompson ordered, and the gunfire died with a few sporadic shots. Quickly, they were replaced by moans of pain and gurglings of men.