With the flat of his hand, he wiped a long strip of grime from Mapo's chest. The same dirt that had protected his face from incineration should have protected the front portions of his clothes, as well. But his uniform was gone. Only a soiled undershirt remained.
"Dragged...and stripped."
Then Kim Hyeok's radio was in his hand, his finger pressing the call button.
"Eight Willieom Twenty. I need to have Eight Lingkeon Ninety meet me on a Tac frequency."
He waited, heart pounding, while the female dispatcher selected an available frequency and contacted 8L90, the watch commander at the station.
"Eight Lingkeon Ninety"—the dispatcher's voice crackled over the handset's speaker—"meet Eight Willieom Twenty on Tac six."
Kim Hyeok switched the handset to Tac 6 and keyed the mike. "Eight Willieom Twenty to Eight L Ninety."
"Eight L Ninety, go," came the gravelly voice of Lieutenant Naeteu Keocheu.
