The Beginning

The dead planet's sky was black with smoke. It was as if the atmosphere itself was singed by Covenant plasma. Black clouds tumbled by in the atmospheric turbulence caused by extreme temperature differences. The orbital drop was tougher than most others, but it still didn't bother the ODSTs. What SGT Jasmine Knightly was worried about was the Scorpion-II main battle tank being dropped not by a dropship, but by a trapezoidal radar-absorbent-material-coated box. When they all landed, Corporal Marshall inspected the tank, commenting "Well for a brick, it flew pretty good."
Everyone knew this drop was going to be difficult. Even LT. Andrews had told Knightly to be careful as he kissed her goodbye; and he wasn't afraid of anything. That's one of the reasons why she loved him; Girls do love their brave knights in shining armor. But a flicker of fear danced in his eyes when she took his hand and placed it on her shoulder, right above her ODST insignia. At least it means he got the message, Knightly thought. She was a Helljumper: tough as nails. Never careful. The word's just not in our dictionary. That's what Knightly often told herself, but in reality, if ODSTs were careful, they wouldn't even exist. The word contradicted their trademark move: dropping through a planet's atmosphere in an aluminum pod at many times the speed of sound.

SGT Knightly inspected the caved-in entrance as if testing its structural integrity by sight alone. There was something behind those fallen rocks, she knew: those black char marks were the product of human explosives, not the blue-gray residue of Covenant plasma. Marines must have self-destructed this facility to keep Covenant hands from getting on it, lets see what we can dig up. She pushed at the rocks, to no avail. Not that I actually expected to move one of these things. The rocks that had cratered in were massive. But luckally for the Helljumpers, they had the UNSC's finest door-knocking tool. She turned to the main battle tank growling behind her. "Marshall," she called out over the noise of the Scorpion-II's engines. "Rotate turret Zero-One-Eight degrees, Armor piercing round." She could picture Marshall's happy face from behind the cockpit's armor. He thought that the sound of a Scorpion's 90mm cannon firing was a sound from the good Lord himself. "Normally..." Marshall's voice echoed over Knightly's radio. Knightly rolled her eyes. She knew what was coming: Marshall loved quoting his old drill instructor, SGT. Avery Johnson. And that man loved his battle tanks. "Normally," Marshall continued, "the good Lord acts in mysterious ways. But not today. This here is sixty-six tons of straight up, HE-spewin' dee-VINE intervention!"
Knightly laughed. "Just shut up and fire that-"
Her last word was cut off by the sound of the Scorpion's main cannon discharging. The Scorpion reeled back from the recoil, and the round tore straight through the rock. The ringing in Knightly's ears was replaced by Marshall's hysterical laughter. "Gets me every time!" he said between laughes. Knightly motioned to the rest of the ODST squad to follow her; the dust had settled, revealing a gaping hole in the rock. Fearless, she stepped into the dark. It was all quiet, except for the silent patter of her troopers' footsteps behind her. She turned on her helmet-mounted lights. She could see the shell where it had imbedded itself in the rock wall. Then she panned the light around. Jackpot. The uncovered room was full of computers. Information. Just what the Captain wanted.

In this dark, quiet, and desolate cave, this is where the true memories are located. Not the propoganda of brave Marines fighting evil aliens to save a helpless world, but the real stories of the real struggles: homes destroyed, blood spilled, screams of the wounded, cries over lost loved ones. The requiem of an entire world.
Remember where it all began.
Remember Reach.