On March 4, 1976, at one o'clock in the afternoon, a deafening explosion rang out just outside Roosendaal. Concrete debris and pieces of metal woven together flew meters into the air. With the explosion, heard and felt for miles around, the "Bunker of the Zeg" was forever a thing of the past. Marius Broos, 24 at the time, captured the devastation with his camera a few hours later. He had known the bunker his whole life. "I was fascinated by the …
This story is only covered by news sources that have yet to be evaluated by the independent media monitoring agencies we use to assess the quality and reliability of news outlets on our platform. Learn more here.
On March 4, 1976, at one o'clock in the afternoon, a deafening explosion rang out just outside Roosendaal. Concrete debris and pieces of metal woven together flew meters into the air. With the explosion, heard and felt for miles around, the "Bunker of the Zeg" was forever a thing of the past. Marius Broos, 24 at the time, captured the devastation with his camera a few hours later. He had known the bunker his whole life. "I was fascinated by the …