The Golden Tickseed

This is merely a rough draft of some background information. Any advice or information to improve the following paragraphs would help.

In one moment, characterized by silence, on top of grassy hill, which looked like the peak had been cut, the wind gently bent the numerous flowers and grass strands east as the wind approached from the west. The shadows of the flowers, elm trees, and some small boulders stretched in the opposite direction of the setting sun. The sun, dipping its lowermost part behind the barren mountains, began to fade, along with its warm heat. Spring, along with its notable smell of bloom, had created an atmosphere of relaxation and repose. The degree of the sense of relaxation was very prominent in the air; to such a degree that it would be very surprising for a stressed individual not to unwind. I, being catch amongst the grip of spring, unburdened myself from the anxieties of war and merely focused on the current beauties of the unfolding scenic view.

                The second moment, silence disrupted by an accumulating sound of roars, transitioned into a moment of suspicion. The rumbling, manifested from every direction and the reverberation caused only a hit of worry. The ground, lightly vibrating, slightly shivered and the dark pebbles, usually located in between the overlooking coreopsis tinctoria, moved perhaps by several millimeters; a centimeter at most. The vast field of coreopsis tinctoria, commonly known as Golden Tickseeds, swayed more than the wind had bent them, but nonetheless presented an outstanding phenomena. The elm trees, lumbering high with its thick trunk, barely quivered, but enough to cause a number leaves to fall. The leaves began covering my head and in annoyance, I stood up, shook the green leaves and untucked my shirt to pick out the leaves that had fallen through my collar. I was dialing the cellphone number of my brother if he was noticing the ongoing earthquake when, from the outer regions of the hill, plumes of black smoke ascended into the sky.

                From east side, as well from the west, a handful of lightly armored vehicles.  From the eastern side of the hill emerged a handful of LAV-25s. Traversing at full speed, the platoon of LAV-25s crossed the field and halted under several elm trees. One of the vehicles, upon noticing me, swayed its turret toward my position, stopped for the several seconds, and rotated the turret to its origin position. After several minutes of whatever they were doing, the mechanized platoon turned around and proceeded to drive back east. As they reached the threshold of the downward slope, from the east side several BTR-90s ascending from the western slope and opened fire at the retreating vehicles. A barrage of shells bombarded the LAV-25s, followed by explosions. Several rounds ricochet, impacted the dirt several meters ahead of me, and rained grainy dirt and uprooted flowers. Among one of the LAV-25s, a shell penetrated the rear end of the vehicle and stopped the LAV before the descending slope. Smoke fumed from the openings and but no flamed ensued. Several latches flung open, the crew jumped out whilst rounds flew overhead, and fled down the slope. The smoke continued to thicken into a black smog and gushed out in such a force that the sight was outstanding. After a short duration of seconds, the smoke halted, but followed garish red and orange flames. The flames blazed out with such ferocious magnitude that a propellant must be catalyzing the conflagration. Moments after that thought, the tank erupt with large