No Boom

Near the town of Boom, in Belgium, the Germans fled across the last bridge still standing over the Rupel River. Rear guards clambered under the bridge, set dynamite charges, began to string a detonating wire to a safe distance, a minute or two away. But they had been seen. A patriot slipped out from his hiding place in the bushes, ducked under the bridge, whittled at the wire with his pocket knife, severed it, scurried away. Moments later British patrols crossed the bridge, heard from Boom's Maquis the story of their hero. He was eleven years old.

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