Close to my hometown, a line of bunkers, built by the Belgian army in the years before World War II. This defence line stretched from the North of Belgium until the Suburbs of Brussels. It yielded nothing when the war started. Nowadays they serve as silent witnesses, often in a landscape full of other scars. Sometimes well conserved, hidden in bushes, next to riverbeds or used as a small warehouse for typical rubbish, they all face the elements, but don't give up (yet).
All bunkers are identified by a number.