A New Georgy-Girl Ch. 03 - Echoes

"JAMIE!!" shrieked Georgy, struggling to get away from me.

"He's OK, Georgy, I've got him, he's safe!" shouted Bonzo, "Stay where you are, he can't get to you there, Jamie's under the stairs with me, just stay there, don't move!"

Jarhead had hit the floor too, diving behind the big Chesterfield sofa, pulling his headset and boom mike into place as he hit the ground.

"Sunray, Sunray, this is Foxtrot Victor Romeo Two-Niner I say again, Foxtrot Victor Romeo two-niner call-sign Jarhead, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, incoming fire, unknown shooter or shooters, no casualties, there are children here, I say again, there are children here, we are taking fire, requesting bailout ASAP, this is a priority Alpha, I say again, we are taking fire, requesting priority Alpha bailout ASAP, Foxtrot Victor Romeo Two Niner EXFIL."

Bonzo out in the hallway, smack in the centre of the building and out of any possible harm's way with Jamie, called out to Aunt Kay.

"Mrs. K, Mrs. K, get the children and Megan away from the windows NOW! All of you, stay up there, don't move around, lie down on the floor in the hall, don't try and come down the stairs, I'll come get you all, repeat DO NOT go near the windows, just lie flat on the floor. The police are on their way, stay there and don't move until I say so!"

The shots had stopped, and in the ringing silence all I could hear was Jamie crying, and Georgy crying and struggling, glaring at me because I was holding her close to me and not letting her go to him.

"No, don't, he's waiting to see movement, stay put, sweetheart! Jamie's Ok, Bonzo's got him, he's safe where he is; please, wait, the police are on their way, don't give him a target."

Georgy suddenly stopped struggling, instead slumping against me, crying hysterically.

"Who's doing this Will, what do they want? They tried to kill you, that bullet was aimed at you, they missed, but supposing he hadn't? He's trying to kill you Will, why, who is he, what have we ever done to deserve this?"

I held my mouth; I wished to God I knew.

The sound of sirens, police two-tones came from the distance, lots of sirens, and then they were louder, and blue flashing lights were reflecting off the walls as the police vehicles pulled up outside the house.

"Hello the house, this is the police!" and a rapid tattoo of knocking at the door let us know the police were at the door. Bonzo opened the door, and a squad of the West Midlands Police Armed Response Unit, in their distinctive black body armour and NOMEX overalls, and black MICH2000 tactical helmets, with SIG SG551 folding-stock carbines dived into the room and took up station either side of the windows.

"Injuries?" enquired the sergeant in charge of the squad.

"None here," replied Bonzo, "two children and two adults on the upper floor, check them out..."

A pair of armed officers peeled off and took the stairs two at a time, calling out as they ran upstairs. Jamie ran crying into the room and jumped into Georgy's arms before Bonzo could stop him, and then suddenly Edie and Jerry were there too and I could hold my children again, and that's when the reaction set in. The police discreetly looked the other way while I fell apart, and then suddenly Aunt Kay was there to hug us all as I cradled my wife and children, and yes, there were tears; I'd suffered nightmares not knowing if my children were safe, horrific visions of them lying silent and motionless upstairs, harmed by that madman, running through my mind, and to know they were safe, and in my arms, I have no words.

Charlie came rushing into the room, eye-counted us all, and sagged in relief.

"Thank fuck, Will, all the way here I..." he choked, hunkering down to ruffle the kids' hair and squeeze Georgy's knee. Edie clambered out of my lap and hugged him, her Godfather and best friend, and the tears ran down his cheeks as he hugged her close. After a few longer, heartfelt hugs, and a kiss to the top of her head he handed her back to me and nodded silently at the door. I gave our daughter back to Georgy, who gathered her in, and followed Charlie out of the room. We walked in silence all the way to dad's old study in the upper branch of the 'E' the house was built like, and that's when he lost it.

"FUCKING BASTARD, FUCKER SHOT AT CHILDREN, HE'S GOING TO FUCKING DIE, I SWEAR!" He yelled, slamming his fist down on dad's desk, "How fucking dare he, on my watch, he does this, first he attacks the children then he shoots at them, I'm going to fucking disembowel that cunt, how fucking dare he!"

I hugged him close as he shook with rage; Charlie was one of my oldest friends, the kids meant the world to him, he'd carried them when they were newborns and played with them all their lives, and someone had put them in mortal danger; he was incandescent with rage, but still not as furious as I was. Whoever was doing this was a dead man; Charlie was constrained by law to apprehend him and have him sent for trial; not me. The first chance I got, he was going to die, painfully. The bastard came after my children, they could have died! He was going to pay, whoever he was.

Charlie looked like a man with a serious problem.

"Will, this whole situation is going to blow up on us; if the press gets hold of this it will be bad, they'll be yelling about terrorist incidents and 'Radical Islamic terror groups' and God knows what other fucking nonsense and making two and two into twenty-two and in the middle of it all this fucking madman is going to slip away until he's ready to try again. If the Chief Constable and the Chief Superintendent are pressed too hard by the media, they're going to turn to the Home Secretary, and he'll be answering questions in Parliament and laying blame anywhere he can and it's going to be a fucking media shit-show with you and the kids right in the middle of it. I can't allow that, so we'll do it this way: Bonzo and Jarhead are part of a specialist MoD group, SRG, security operatives who manage special projects for the military and certain branches of government; they were here too, they were under assault, which makes this their show."

He shook his head resignedly.

"If you allow them to step in front of this, it becomes an SRG, and in all likelihood SIS-SAS, joint-operation, then it's immediately covered by The Official Secrets Act. That means immediate and total media clampdown, no word of this gets out, and you get SRG and the SAS watching your backs and looking for whoever's behind this. How does that lie with you?"

I had to stop dead and think about it; so many people here already knew what had gone down, how could Charlie suddenly make this to not have happened?

"What about us, Charlie, where do we all go? We can't stay here, we can't be put in police protective custody indefinitely, how do we get eyes off us?"

Charlie actually grinned, although it was more of a rictus.

"All my lot have, at one time or another, signed The Official Secrets Act, they know how to keep their mouths shut if they want to keep their jobs and stay out of court, and when I say court I'm talking about being debriefed by a bunch of faces at Spook-Central, not the county court or the Crown court, so I guarantee when they leave here they'll forget what they saw, who was here, and what happened. They're already aware of the presence of at least two SRG officers so they know there's something else going on here. They won't talk."

Just then Jarhead knocked and walked in.

"Will, Charlie, we need to arrange for a rapid bug-out, we've got a couple of safe locations, unless you've got a better idea, Will; I don't like the idea of hanging around here too much longer, we need to bail ASAP out before they brew us up again."

"Let me get Georgy and the kids sorted and we'll get our stuff together, give us thirty minutes and we'll be packed and ready, I know where we're going..."

Part 2: Withdraw and Regroup

Leaving the house had been a bit of a wrench but we had no real choice, and we managed it okay without too many frayed tempers or teary outbursts. Luckily we'd retrieved the children's car-seats from the wrecked B-Max, they went into one of the nondescript estate Toyota Land Cruisers parked in the rear garage, and a bunch of suitcases and flight-bags stuffed with clothes, favourite toys, laptops and tablets went in the other one. Megan and Aunt Kay were both coming with us; after the way she'd defended the kids there was no way on God's earth I was cutting Megan loose to fend for herself, plus the kids loved her and she wouldn't be parted from them anyway.

Jarhead arranged to have an SRG-bonded contractor in to repair the damage to the house and provide 24/7 security while the house was empty, and his boss would very shortly be having a little chat with the school and the local education authority about the kids' absence and impressing upon them how it never happened, that issues of national security were at stake, and just how dim a view those higher up would take of any discussion of it by anybody at all. With that we set off, I drove the car with the kids, with Georgy riding shotgun, and Jarhead drove the other Land Cruiser with Aunt Kay and Megan for company. Bonzo was going to follow about ten minutes behind us in Georgy's battered but reliable old Land Rover Defender, keeping his distance and watching our back-trail.

Our destination was one of the properties I'd inherited from my father's estate, a pretty, 6-bedroomed cottage (actually, two cottages knocked together into one) in a secluded valley in The Peak District. Georgy and I had vacationed there as a sort of short honeymoon just before Jamie was born, and she'd always wanted to come back and spend more time there; I just don't think our current trip and the reasons behind it were quite what she had in mind back then!

The house was just the right size, big enough to hold all of us comfortably and for the kids to rampage around in, and small enough to pick up easily. There was even a genuine cottage herb garden and surrounding wildflower meadows; the valley itself was one of those smooth parabolic valleys scooped out by a glacier during the Ice Age, with rounded valley bottom, and wide, gently sloping sides all the way up to a clear horizon, a mile or so wide and several miles longer along its main axis, ample space for the kids to play, explore, and roam around in, and, much more to my liking, no nearby tree-line, just flat, open meadow-land off into the distance, clear visibility for a full three-sixty.

Georgy was unhappy at first. Of course she was; she loved her home, she'd grown up there, all her favourite and most familiar things were there, but the plus side was this was more like an extended holiday, or at least the kids thought so, and it wasn't a permanent change; we'd go home one day, sooner rather than later if we could get that bloody lunatic, whoever he was, off our backs.

The cottage was fully stocked with the basic domestic necessities, things like household appliances, saucepans, skillets, and baking sheets, silverware, tableware, bed-linens, quilts, pillows, and fluffy bathrobes. There was even a backup generator and a full fuel-oil tank for the hot water heater and central heating. Georgy and I had always meant to go back there and spend an extended holiday, but then pregnancy, work, and family life had put a hold on that, but we'd always kept the place spick and span and ready to go if we ever managed to get a week away from work. I never guessed in a million years we'd be using it as a hideaway from a lunatic who had a homicidal hatred of us for reasons unknown...

The kids were quiet at first, and Georgy kept giving me worried glances; the three of them were usually just this side of bloody rowdy, and to see them so subdued worried me more that I wanted to let on, but I could see Georgy was worried too; what had that terrifying incident done to them, especially Jamie, who'd seen his mother and I huddling against a wall while someone shot at us?

After a couple of hours Georgy had had enough of the silence from the back seat, and made me pull over onto the wide grass verge.

"Ty, I think the kids need to stretch their legs," she told me, mugging furiously, and I agreed just as phony-heartily, jumping out and unbuckling the children's seat harnesses so they could run around in the warm sunshine. Jerry and Edie seemed to be relatively unaffected by what had happened; they'd been safe upstairs when Georgy and I had been pinned down, but Jamie, usually the adventurous, outgoing one, wouldn't go with Georgy as she and the two little ones pointed out and laughed at rabbits and cows in the fields and all the Hedge-Sparrows and songbirds flitting in and out of the Hawthorn hedgerows, cautious of the Harriers hovering high above the fields.

For the first time in a very long time Jamie slipped his hand into mine and clung on tight, refusing to leave my side. He didn't even object when I picked him up, something he hates with a passion; instead he clung tightly to my neck, and I realised he was crying. I nodded at Georgy's worried glance and sauntered around the car with him, taking him out of sight of the two little ones as they played and ran around on the grass with Georgy.

"Do you want to tell me about it, son?" I urged him, sitting on the tailgate with him in my arms. Jamie said nothing, just cried softly, so I let him, obviously he had something he needed to cry out, so I waited, holding him close until he was ready to talk. It distressed me that my little boy was so distressed; Jamie never cries, he's a confident, calming influence on the two younger ones even though he's only seven years old, but now he was just my little boy and he needed to cry. Jamie is Jamie; when he's ready to share, he does.

After a few more minutes I sensed he'd stopped crying, so I pulled a Kleenex out of the travel bag and wiped his eyes while he blew his nose. Once he was cleaned up I pulled him against me, letting him listen to my voice in my chest as I talked, the way he'd liked to sleep when he was small.

"You want to tell me about it, son?" I asked, feeling him nod against me, so I let him speak, telling me all about it.

"Daddy, was that man trying to kill you and Mummy? Was he going to kill Mummy? Why?" he murmured. Right, so that was what this was about. I thought so.

Jamie tucked his head further in under my chin, his favourite spot when he was a toddler, so he could feel my voice rumbling in my chest and listen to my heartbeat.

"No, no he wasn't, he was just trying to scare us, me and Mummy. I don't know why he wanted to scare us, but Uncle Rex, and Uncle Andy, and me, when we get you all nice and comfy and settled-in where we're going, we're going to find out."

"Were you scared, daddy?" he asked, and I told him the truth.

"Yes, Jamie, just a little bit, but Mummy was very scared, he frightened her and that scared me, and then I saw you, and you could have been hurt by accident and that scared me even more; that's why Uncle Rex grabbed you and hid you under the stairs, so you'd be safe, just in case."

"You stopped Mummy being scared didn't you, Daddy?" he asked, and I had to smile.

"I think so, Jamie; actually, though, she stopped being scared when she knew you were okay; you're her big-boy, and she always wants you to be safe and happy, that's her job; to be your Mummy and love you, and Edie, and Jerry and make you all happy."

"And we have to love Mummy and keep her safe and make her happy too, don't we daddy?" he asked me, and I had to grin, almost bursting with pride; how did I get so lucky with this kid? I ruffled his hair affectionately and for once he didn't shake his head in annoyance and smooth his hair back again; instead he grinned back at me, all trace of tears or fear gone from his eyes. I knew another hug wasn't going to happen; he wouldn't like that, he wasn't a huggy-clingy kid at all, so I squeezed his shoulder, man-to-man stuff he'd appreciate.

"That's right, Jamie; you and me, our job is to keep Mummy and Edie and Jerry and Aunt Kay and Megan safe; you ready to help me, son?"

His grey eyes sparkled.

"Let's do it, Daddy, let's take mummy somewhere far away so she can be safe and we can look after her!"

I shook hands solemnly with him. "It's a deal, now you better go and give her a hug; Mummy's still very worried about you."

He slid off me and ran around the car, and when I peered around the car he was kneeling on Georgy's lap as she sat cross-legged on the grass, hugging her while he kissed her, her glance at me just a little puzzled at the sudden display of affection, but I could see she was more than happy to lap it up.

When we finally herded the kids back into the car after one last look at the really interesting caterpillar, and confirming the clutch of pheasants across the road were indeed pheasants, just like the ones Edie and Jerry chased around in the grounds back home every day, and one last look at the sheep in the field next to us, and lots of "no Jerry, leave that poor frog alone, no you can't have him, no he won't like living in your pocket, put him down," or "yes, that is a cow, baby-girl, yes it is very pretty, no, you can't ride it like a pony, no, we can't get you one right now, maybe Mummy will get you a pony later on," etc. and got them strapped-in, they were all three chattering nineteen to the dozen like they always did, jumping around from subject to subject at random.

Georgy slipped into her seat and squeezed my knee. I grinned at her and she glanced back at the kids, once more their usual, noisy selves, and leaned over to whisper "I don't know how you did it, but thank you!" before kissing me Georgy-style, which meant she put a lot of effort into it, which of course brought a barrage of '"Ew, daddy, yuk!" and loud kissy noises and giggles from the peanut gallery. Georgy grinned happily; our kids were back.

"Let's get them settled in and I can thank you properly!" she grinned, winking lewdly, "It's been a strange day, I think I'm going to need some normal soon, you get my drift, Tyler Wilmot?"

I did indeed; suddenly it seemed a long, long way to the Peak District...

*****

The children loved the cottage, immediately staking-out their claims to their own favourite places, the things they wanted to do, places they wanted to explore, things they wanted to see. Our living arrangements were easy to decide; Georgy and I, the kids, and Megan in one half of the house, Bonzo, Jarhead, and Aunt Kay in their own rooms in the other half of the house. The kids got the master bedroom but there was no friction over the three of them sharing a room; Jamie had his own bedroom back home, and Jerry and Edie each had their own beds in the nursery, but you could bank on finding them both fast asleep together every morning; they slept better that way, so we never made a thing out of it. All in all, the three of them were quite happy to 'rough it' for the duration.

Georgy and my room was on one side of the kids' room and Megan's room on the other side, with a connecting door to the kid's room she insisted on wedging open; even here, a long way from what had happened at home she wouldn't be separated from the children. The kids were under the impression we were on holiday, and, to be honest, that's what it felt like. As far as I was concerned, the happier they were to be here, the less likely they were to think about or brood on what had happened back there.

Obviously, there were no stores in the house; other than the people we paid to clean the place once a week and do essential maintenance no-one had been here since before Jamie was born, so our first priority was getting in some supplies. The nearest village was about five miles away, in the next valley, and the first shopping trip reminded me why you should never take hungry kids through a supermarket.