TIME'S Correspondent John Scott went to a Swedish airport in the hope of getting a plane seat to Stockholm. Instead he got a story:
The plane from Berlin arrivedan American-made DC-3, with "SwedenSchweden" painted in huge letters on both sides. A dozen grave-faced Germans emerged. Out-prioritied, I resigned myself to the night train. While waiting for a taxi I stood around and watched the Germans. Their clothes looked unpressed and faded but still good. Their faces were grim. I particularly noticed one grey gentleman. He had on a fine, fur-collared coat and new overshoes, a prewar and rather frowzy hat. He...