continuation from the prompt “100 words or less”

  His left-hand griped the steering wheel. His right-hand chocked the leather gearshift knob. His tense body ached with excitement, now steering a course for the final adobe of the righteous. His being was consumed with shahid, giving himself to Allah. He drank the Turkish tea, flavored with drops of narcotics, more to heighten his awareness than promote courage. It was now time. Dilated eyes, macabre stare, sense of purpose as Ismail Ascari accelerated the Mercedes-Benz truck into the basement parking garage. At 6:22 in the morning, he detonated ten tons of TNT; the four-story building collapsed. 220 sleeping Marines would not awake. 
The day was not unlike any other fall coastal North Carolina day, dry mild temperature augmented by a cool ocean breeze. Diana Rocco was preparing a snack in anticipation of her two children coming home from grade school. Sheila was 10-years-old, smart and mature beyond her years. She seemed always taking care of Seve, her younger sibling by 2 years, at times a mother figure to the 8-year-old knucklehead. The mom was preparing a snack before dinner anticipating in 20 minutes the onrush of youthful exuberance. 
As Diana glanced out the kitchen window in search of the yellow school bus, her vision captured the moment that caused her to dropped dishes into the sink. Her body convulsed and her mouth experience the retched aftertaste of vomit that gushed from her gut wrenching spasms. Her shaking hands would not stop. She observed a dark sedan rolling into her driveway and stopping. Having been a veteran Marine wife of ten years, she recognized the routine. 
A man in a dark suite with a white collar exited the passenger side. Stepping out of the driver side of the government sedan was a Marine Lieutenant Colonel, dressed in his dress green uniform, painstakingly maneuvering a direction toward the front door entrance.  
Diana Rocco made the sign of the cross, almost fell to her knees, regain her strength. She moves slowly to answer the doorbell, hoping slow would change the purpose of the visitors. 
The two gentlemen on her porch were there to notify her that Captain Davis Rocco, her husband of 12 years, would be coming home in a flag draped coffin. A Hezbollah driver of the truck bomb had shattered her family.
All her strength would be needed as Sheila and Seve hopped off the school bus and chased each other up the driveway in excitement of the usual “home from school” snack. Racing each other through the front door, their shenanigans stop when they saw their puffy eyed mother extending her arms out to embrace her children. The next few days were a difficult, surreal experience shared by hundreds of family and friends at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune. 
Eight-year-old Seve Rocco lacked the ability to fully absorbed the moment. He couldn’t put all the pieces together, didn’t understand who would kill his dad and why his classroom friends were missing their dads. A decade later, he had his answers, a resolve and course of action for retribution.