Archer had indeed incapacitated all that there was to fight in that freight car that might ambush him. Though things were still chaotic, they seemed to be nearing the end of the conflict; one longcoat remained standing, until — "HUAGH!" — the troop holding onto Geoff was sent flying into him via spindash ejection. They went barreling across the inside of the car somewhere into the shadows in a tangled pile, smashing through a wooden crate. (It was thankfully not the crate they were wanting to recover, nor the one Archer hid behind.)

That meant nothing remained except the troop in the bandolier, and... bless his dogged perseverance, but things weren't looking good anymore.

Casey stood up slowly, one eyebrow raised well above the other as he watched the guy in the suit start to exit, then get pounded straight back in by his feline acquaintance.

"..."

Was he going to question it? Not in this case. He found that people usually had a good reason for ambushing other folks, and hadn't yet gotten any insidious vibes off of Ace.

So, with that, things had finally fallen quiet—about as quiet as they could get on a moving train, anyway. There were no more gunshots or explosions, and the helicopter was hard to hear hanging back near the caboose. The red-jacketed boar stepped out from behind his cover and started looking around.

"Hey— roll call, people!" he called through the baggage car in a sort of hushed shout. "Stand up and say somethin' if y'aren't dead!"

Casey blinked very intently and slouched, mouth hanging open for a split second.

"It's a—"

Pause. He was searching his own vocabulary.

"Contraculation of 'ya' and 'aren't'."

He seemed self-satisfied with the quality of English Learning he was dispensing.

Archer peered around the corner as Geoff ejected his foe by spindashing. Things were coming to a close, from the looks of it. So far, there had been a lot of improvisation in the original plan, but there was still time to salvage. He reached under his uniform, where his trusty utility belt was. He pulled out a few small metal shafts, which he started to screw together until they became an arrow.

The arrow also had a cable feeding attachment behind the fetching. He proceeded to a wrap the cable around the crate securely while the others continued to go at it. He peered around the crate once more before kneeling and activating the com link in his ear once more.

"Tracer. I'm about to open the main door. Can you come along-side the train?" He said in a low voice, not wanting to be overheard.

She started to move forward over the train before she even responded to him.

"Copy that. I'm moving up now." Came the cold voice over the radio. The helicopter shifted from over the cars to beside it, pulling up along side the car all the fighting had been over.

"Make it fast." She cautioned, watching for the rouge gunman or the yellow cat.

Archer then moved toward the big side door and kicked open the latch and pushed the door open without a warning to anyone present. He had to brace a moment as the pressure from outside swarmed inside. Then he loaded the arrow into his bow and fired it into the helicopter as it pulled beside the car. The arrowhead was shaped in such a way that once it caught into something, it'd take quite a bit of force to get it unstuck.

"Go!"

"I'm still not sure they're even gone," replied Casey, as he heard the helicopter approaching again. (Unbeknownst to him was the fact that it was merely coming to collect a package.) "Definitely here to steal somethin', though," he observed, setting his hands (or rather, his one hand) on his waist. "Just gotta wonder what could justify that much firepower both to protect and to steal."

The implication here: We'll investigate when there's no helicopter around to shoot at us anymore because I'm not the suicidal kind of adventurer.

So only the man in the bandolier remained.

The odds were looking down. Maybe he didn't realize it with how hectic things were; maybe he didn't know just how many of his comrades had been taken down in the haze of confusion surrounding the fight. Either way, it seemed he didn't know when to give up, because as soon as he collected his bearings and caught a glimpse of Archer sliding open the side door with that crate all bundled up and ready to go, he made a dash after it; as the crate slid out the door, yanked by the helicopter, he made a literal flying leap to try to grab it. Whatever it was, it, or the consequences of not getting it, must have been resoundingly important to him.

"That's what she said."

Archer hung his bow over his shoulder as he hopped onto the crate as it started sliding out of the train, holding onto the cable. As Mr. Bandolier made a dash for it, he didn't stop him. Instead, he reached out to help him up on what little space was left before he began to make the climb up toward the helicopter so they could begin hoisting the goods up into the helicopter.

The rat looked up when he heard the thud of Ace hitting the floor of the car. He stared for a moment, brow raised, perplexed by the health of his assailant suddenly and quite rapidly plummeting. Then, he chuckled with mild amusement, which was soon cut off by a rough cough. Shaking his head, he casually got back on his feet, a hand still holding onto his sore ribcage. Figuring no one else was interested in giving him further trouble, he stepped forward past the cat's prone figure.

"It seems your friend has been pushing himself too far," he said aloud, with the same relaxed and smug tone of voice he used when he first confronted the group, though one could still tell that he was still short of breath from being kicked in the chest. "But then again, today has been rough, for everyone involved. Still..."

Heading for the open door leading to the exterior of the cargo cars, the one he had been ambushed from, he did not turn around to face anyone as he continued speaking, giving them only a passive wave over his shoulder, "I think it's high time I excused myself from this affair. Don't catch a chill; Chun-Nan weather can be infamously harsh on travelers. Au revoir, étrangers."

The big boar gave the scene a stern lookin'-at. Between Ace's attack, sudden collapse, and the stranger's all-too-suspicious approach to a subtle departure, everything added up to a bad number he didn't much care for.

"Hey, no no no," he called, his gunarm clinking and clattering as it raised, his left hand gripping tightly underneath to support the weight of it and its burly ammo box. "You don't get to ooze outta here that easy — not with a slimy attitude like that in a situation like this."