By Dennis Detwiller
Thule, the Nazi Atlantis, mythical domestic of Aryan superbeings that governed prehistory. Thule used to be purported to be a Nazi delusion, but if a defector from the SS occult sciences department, the Karotechia, brings facts of Thule's fact, Delta Green's direction is apparent: the alien urban and its technological and occult secrets and techniques needs to be denied to the enemy in any respect charges. however the precise masters of Thule are struggling with their very own struggle. A traitor from the previous endangers their eons-old plan to form the long run. The survival of mankind will depend on the destiny of Thule; yet to smash Thule or reserve it? Which selection will retailer mankind? Written by way of Dennis Detwiller with conceal paintings by means of Samuel Araya.
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Extra resources for Delta Green: Denied to the Enemy (A Call of Cthulhu Mythos Novel of World War II)
Bewildered at all turns by his colleagues’ inability to judge his character, he found himself in a constant and pervasive daze of disbelief. He had fooled everyone, it seemed, except himself. And that was the most important person to fool of all. With Weber as his “confidant,” Bruning had played up their comradeship, their responsibility to the Reich. Nothing would stop them; they would save the world together... They shared wine and plans—both of which were blindly sanguine, and did nothing to better their position but let them pretend together that they had, while time and circumstance marched around them like the armies of the world.
The old man slid the door open slowly, hoping to avoid the horrible whine he knew would occur from its rusty hinges. It happened anyway, but there was no pause from below. No hesitation in the dull roar of his family as the festivities continued. No one had even noticed his absence, he was sure. The study was silent, warm and scholarly, lit only by a green-visored desk lamp. It had slipped his mind to quash the light when he had retired for the evening last night. He considered the empty room, filled with books and other written documentation of a world which had somehow slipped from his grasp.
Inside was his Webley revolver, a huge and cumbersome-looking weapon. It had hung from his belt on a chain during the Great War, and had been with him ever since. The old man closed his eyes. In his mind he could see his men crawling over the moonscape of No Man’s Land, cratered, broken, and rich with the rotting bodies of medics, snipers, and infantrymen left for the rats. And worse things. Cornwall opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to push his memories away, but they clung to his vision even after his eyes were wide.