The growing military-technical partnership between Russia and China has become an increasingly influential factor in shaping global security dynamics, particularly in the context of Russia’s ongoing full-scale war against Ukraine. Since February 2022, China has gradually become one of the key enablers of sustaining Russia’s war effort, particularly when it comes to the defense industry. However, to understand this change, it is necessary to study the earlier periods of military relations between Beijing and Moscow, because many elements of their contemporary cooperation were built on foundations laid down well before 2022.
This paper assesses the depth and dynamics of Russian-Sino military cooperation, by comparing the era that preceded the breakout of the Russia-Ukraine war in 2014 to the 2014-2022 period and to the one that followed the full-scale escalation. The “fog of war” means there is very limited reliable information about the details of contemporary military-technological cooperation between Moscow and Beijing. This particularly concerns details about ongoing weapons and arms component transfers. Nevertheless, we can draw some conclusions about the general trends of military cooperation between the two countries, especially given the absence of certain actions and commitments, which are indicative of the limits of their military cooperation.
The military cooperation of post-Soviet Russia and China began as a relatively straightforward arms trade relationship in the 1990s and has evolved into a complex partnership. Beijing needed weapons and military equipment from Russia to increase and modernize its armed forces. Meanwhile, Russia desperately needed export markets for the survival of its large military-industrial complex inherited from the Soviet era. The massive stockpiles of ex-Soviet weaponry enabled Moscow to provide Beijing with less advanced weapons, but in huge numbers. China particularly needed Russian technology for modernizing its air force, air defense, and navy.
According to data published by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), between 1992 and 2014, Russia supplied China with over 100 combat aircraft, including Su-27 and Su-30 fighters. Russian specialists also contributed to the development of Chinese aircraft such as the J-10, JF-17, and L-15 trainer.1 Additionally, China received construction blueprints for the Su-27SK, leading to the licensed production of the J-11 in Shenyang starting in 1998. Leveraging this acquired knowledge, China later developed carrier-based fighters like the J-15, incorporating both Russian and Ukrainian aviation technology.
Russia also shipped more than 300 Mi-17 transport helicopters, at least 12 S-300 air defense systems, a minimum of 35 Tor M1 air defense systems, and several hundred air-to-air missiles for the Su-27 fighters to support China’s ambition to develop its air forces.
In terms of naval capabilities, Russia delivered altogether 12 diesel submarines (10 Project 636E “Varshavyanka”-class submarines and two Project 877E “Lada”-class vessels), hundreds of torpedoes and Kh-59 anti-ship missiles, and even some 120 AK-176 naval guns and air defense missiles for China’s newly built destroyers. China also obtained two decommissioned ex-Soviet aircraft carriers — the Minsk and the Varyag — to develop its own aircraft carrier program.2 Albeit the latter was sold by Ukraine, the transfer could not have taken place without at least the tacit consent of Russia.
In this period before 2014, the two sides had asymmetric, but conveniently complementary, motivations to cooperate: China needed Russia’s military-technological know-how, while the Russian defense industry was eager to sell weaponry to China.
For China, acquiring Russian technology has long served a dual purpose: It enhances Beijing’s military capabilities and provides a foundation for the development of indigenous weapons systems through military-industrial cannibalization. China has historically reverse-engineered Russian technology, adapting and improving upon it for its own needs — a situation that has irked the Kremlin and led to setbacks in the relationship. For instance, the J-11, derived from the Su-27 and the HQ-9 air defense system, and modeled after the S-300, exemplifies this approach. More recently, Chinese advancements in jet engines, radar systems, and missile technology can be traced back to Russian designs.
Meanwhile, Russia did not show much interest in China’s own defense technological solutions, as Moscow deemed them less advanced than what Russia could domestically produce. This was particularly so because Russia built its defense reform on the assumption that technological cooperation with the West would remain uninterrupted: The State Armament Program 2010-2020 envisioned ambitious defense cooperation programs with the West, not paying much attention to technologically inferior China.3 All in all, before 2014, Russia was an important provider of military hardware for China, dominantly based on commercial motivations.
The international sanctions gradually introduced against Russia following the 2014 occupation and illegal annexation of Crimea started to change the overall dynamics of Russian-Sino military cooperation and the motives behind it. This affected both the political and military-technological dimensions of their cooperation, motivated by Russia’s sudden loss of access to Ukrainian defense industrial products, such as ship engines and missile technology, as well as Western sanctions against the Russian defense industry.
Hence, from 2014 to 2022, military cooperation between Russia and China witnessed significant developments, marked by a rapid expansion in several key areas, as China became Russia’s only remaining alternative for technology imports. This period was characterized by the growing institutionalization of military-technological cooperation, joint exercises, and military diplomacy, which laid the foundation for the robust yet complex relationship between the two countries witnessed in 2025.4
The most notable phase of expansion occurred between 2014 and 2019, when both countries increased their military collaboration across multiple fronts. The establishment of regular high-level consultations and bilateral security dialogues, such as annual meetings among the heads of the security councils and the semiannual Northeast Asia Security Dialogue, strengthened the political and military foundations of their relationship. These meetings were complemented by five-year roadmaps, starting in 2017, which charted the course for their military cooperation. By 2021, the most recent plan, which extends through 2025, demonstrated continued commitment to deepening their strategic military ties.
During this period, military-technological cooperation grew at a rapid pace. China emerged as an increasingly important consumer of Russian military technology, particularly in the realms of air defense, aircraft, and advanced weaponry.5 While China has made strides in developing its domestic defense industry, it continues to acquire advanced Russian military hardware, including missile systems and cutting-edge aircraft. Unlike in the pre-2014 era, in this period, Russia already supplied China with some of its most advanced weaponry and equipment. In May 2018, China procured at least 8 pieces of the S-400 missile defense system, further enhancing its air defense capabilities. Additionally, Russia supplied China with 10 Su-35 fighters, completing an earlier contract that was fulfilled through deliveries in 2016 and 2017. Besides, according to SIPRI, among other data sources, Moscow also shipped more than 20 Ilyushin Il-76M modernized heavy military transport aircrafts.1
In 2014, a new dimension of bilateral military cooperation emerged: Russia importing technology from China. The sanctions introduced gradually after 2014 isolated Russia from most of the Western defense industrial partners that Moscow intended to cooperate with in modernizing its armed forces. Some projects were scrapped entirely, for example, the plan to buy the Mistral-class helicopter-carrier attack ships from France. In other cases, the termination of contracts resulted in Russia being deprived of crucial Western components necessary for building its own systems. This significantly affected the Russian fleet. The building of several ship classes had to be either rescheduled or redesigned because the Western-made ship engines (primarily the German MAN and Finnish Wärtsilä) had become unavailable due to sanctions. The situation was further worsened by the fact that the attack against Ukraine also terminated Russia’s access to engines produced by Ukraine’s defense industry.
As a substitute, Russia tried to import the necessary technology from China, but the experiences were mixed at best. For the Buyan-M corvettes, Moscow originally planned to use German engines, and the first five vessels of the class were built with these. After 2014, Moscow had to rely on Chinese-made engines for the remaining four corvettes. However, though these engines were built in China using Western licenses, they were still hardly suitable for the task; they seriously underperformed in terms of power, flexibility, and fuel consumption.6 Russia had similar experiences with smaller Chinese engines built into the Karakurt-class corvettes and Rubin-class patrol boats: Their overall performance was much lower than it would have been with the originally planned Western engines.7
However, by the end of the 2014-2022 period, there was a shift in the trajectory of Russian-Sino military cooperation. China’s growing self-sufficiency in defense technology, along with the Western sanctions imposed on Russia, led to a plateau in arms sales. Despite this, joint technology projects, such as advanced radar systems and helicopter development, continued to form a crucial aspect of the bilateral military cooperation. Although the volume of arms sales diminished, the partnership evolved into one based more on the exchange of technological components and co-production of military systems. In other words, the dynamics changed: Instead of China unilaterally importing Russian technology, while Russia worked with the West, Beijing and Moscow engaged in joint development projects. This, however, did not prevent China from continuing to reverse-engineer various Russian systems: This reached such a level by 2019 that in a rare move Rostec, Russia’s state arms corporation, publicly criticized China for this practice, claiming that there were more than 500 cases of illicit technology transfers.5
In parallel, joint military exercises and operations saw a significant uptick. From the mid-2010s onward, Russia and China increased the frequency and global reach of their joint military activities, shifting from basic training exercises to more complex operations designed to enhance operational coordination. These joint exercises were intended to demonstrate Moscow’s and Beijing’s willingness to improve interoperability between the two militaries and served to demonstrate their growing cooperation to the world. The People’s Liberation Army used joint exercises to enhance its operational capabilities, learning from Russia’s military expertise. In contrast, Russia’s military, while advanced in certain areas, found less to learn from China’s comparatively less experienced armed forces.8
However, one needs to add that, in reality, joint exercises were still more about their symbolic value than about enhancing live combat interoperability. China never had its soldiers deployed alongside Russian troops in any real missions, whether anti-terror operations in the North Caucasus or high-intensity combat in Ukraine. Hence, in terms of improving interoperability, the two sides never crossed the boundary from exercising in drills to fighting together in live combat.
However, after 2019, the pace of these joint exercises began to slow, primarily due to the geopolitical constraints caused by the COVID-19 pandemic and, more importantly, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022.
The February 2022 attack changed the dynamics of Russian-Sino military cooperation by significantly amplifying the trends since 2014. Almost three weeks before the attack, on February 4, 2022, Russian President Vladimir Putin visited Chinese President Xi Jinping in Beijing, and the two leaders announced the creation of a “no-limits partnership”.9 The statement charged that the advocacy of democracy and human rights by the US is merely a form of exercising political influence, condemned any kind of economic sanctions, and pledged that China and Russia work together to counter the Western liberal world order.10
However, the limits of the “no-limits” partnership were put to a hard test by the launch of the full-scale invasion. Russia waited until the Beijing Winter Olympics ended on February 20 and, the next day, unilaterally recognized the “independence” of the two Russia-backed separatist entities in eastern Ukraine, the so-called Donetsk People’s Republic and Luhansk People’s Republic. As the recognition also included military assistance to the separatists, this move paved the way for a direct, large-scale military escalation.
As the rapidly introduced Western sanctions hit Russia’s economy, including its military industry, China was quick to step in and satisfy Russia’s growing demands. The sanctions circumvention mechanisms established in 2014 enabled Beijing to rapidly provide Russia with its much-needed military-technological components, parts, and raw materials. China has delivered shipments of goods sanctioned by the West to Russia both directly and via intermediaries, such as Hong Kong, Kazakhstan, and Turkey.
One demonstrative example is the case of semiconductors necessary for military equipment and weaponry. Compared with the pre-war level, China’s export of semiconductors to Russia rose significantly, and as of 2023, China accounted for 89% of Russia’s microchip imports. Beijing also played a key role in Russia’s domestic chip production: Some 47% of the chip-making equipment and 58% of spare parts used in Russia were of Chinese origin.11 The importance of semiconductor shipments was tacitly confirmed by the February 2024 meeting of Putin and Xi, during which they pledged to “maintain the stability” of industrial trade as a reaction to newer Western sanctions.11
The same key role is present regarding critical minerals: As of 2023, China was Russia’s sole external supplier of gallium and germanium. Another critical mineral, antimony, is supplied only by China and the United Arab Emirates.12 Further, Russia’s importation from China of nitrocellulose, a crucial component of gunpowder and explosives production, has surged since 2022. Before the full-scale invasion, China shipped practically no nitrocellulose to Russia. However, deliveries have skyrocketed since May 2022: In 2022, some 700 tons were transported, increasing to 1,300 tons by 2023.13
China also supplies Russia with a huge variety and number of dual-use goods, the most important being unmanned aerial vehicles. That said, in response to Western criticism, in September 2023, Beijing introduced restrictions on the export of drones to conflict zones, though regulations still permit drone exports for civilian use. This loophole regarding dual use is actively used by Beijing and Moscow: Russia has imported millions of light drones manufactured in China, primarily of the Mavic series from DJI. While the Ukrainian military also uses Mavics, anecdotal evidence suggests that China tends to deliver more developed versions of the same Mavic drones to Russia than to Ukraine. In addition to these, Chinese components are playing a key role in supporting Russia’s domestic drone production.13 There is also growing evidence that China is producing armed drones for Russia.14
China apparently does not mind if its civilian products shipped to Russia are used for military purposes. The Russian army has been widely using the DesertCross 1000-3 light all-terrain car at least since autumn 2023. Roles vary from logistics to weapons platforms; sometimes DesertCross vehicles, colloquially nicknamed “golf cars,’” are even used for mechanized assaults.15 Despite the huge amounts of public evidence about the combat deployment of these vehicles, China continues exporting them to Russia, claiming that the shipments are only for civilian end users.
Meanwhile, China has almost completely refrained from exporting heavy weapons and ready-made arms to Russia.16 The few exceptions documented so far include supplying Russia with a limited number of Shaanxi Baoji Tiger armored vehicles, which in 2023 were used by the Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov’s Akhmat special unit.17 The successor of the Wagner Group also obtained some Chinese armored fighting vehicles: Following the attack on a Wagner convoy in Mali by Tuareg groups, the victorious rebels captured at least one Norinco VP11 armored vehicle; however, it is possible that this vehicle was originally purchased by the Malian army and then transferred to the Russian mercenaries.18 In addition to a small number of armored vehicles, there have also been cases where Russian troops were documented using Chinese-made anti-drone weapons.16 However, as of March 2025, there were no known cases of Chinese heavy weaponry getting supplied en masse to Russia’s regular armed forces.
In addition to military and dual-use shipments, one of the most visible aspects of Russian-Sino military cooperation is the increasing frequency and scale of joint military exercises. These drills serve multiple purposes: For Moscow, they demonstrate that Western attempts to isolate Russia have failed, while for Beijing, they reinforce strong ties with a key military partner. Exercises such as the annual Vostok, Zapad, and Joint Sea drills highlight the growing interoperability between Russian and Chinese forces, including their ability to coordinate complex naval and air operations.
For NATO and the United States, these exercises present a strategic concern. They enhance China’s military preparedness and allow it to test Russian tactics and equipment in real-world scenarios. Moreover, they send a strong geopolitical message, particularly in regions of shared interest such as the South China Sea, the Pacific, and even the Arctic, where both nations seek to challenge Western dominance.
Despite occasional tensions, the military partnership between Russia and China remains advantageous for both sides. For Russia, arms exports to China provide much-needed revenue for its defense industry, especially in light of Western sanctions. This collaboration ensures continued investment in Moscow’s military-industrial complex and helps sustain its arms production.
China’s military modernization has benefited significantly from access to Russian technology, and this exchange shows no signs of slowing down. While China has made considerable progress in developing indigenous defense capabilities, its continued acquisition of Russian systems, ranging from air defense platforms to hypersonic weapons, has reinforced its growing military strength.
This partnership extends beyond traditional arms sales. Russia’s expertise in submarine technology, missile systems, and advanced radar is particularly valuable to Beijing. Should Russia provide its advanced submarine technology, particularly its expertise in manufacturing low-noise propellers and propulsion systems, this would negatively affect the operations of the US Navy in the Pacific region. Russia already contributed to developing China’s Shang-class submarines before the full-scale invasion of Ukraine; hence, the foundation is there for continued cooperation.19
Looking forward, both nations could deepen their collaboration in emerging military fields, including autonomous combat systems and artificial intelligence–driven warfare. Such advancements would not only enhance China’s force projection capabilities but also reshape the balance of power in the Indo-Pacific and Arctic regions.
As Russia and China continue to deepen their military partnership, Western nations must reassess their strategic posture. The fusion of Russian technology with China’s manufacturing capabilities is accelerating Beijing’s military modernization, potentially shifting the balance of power in key regions. The Chinese-produced dual-use vehicles and drones used by the Russian military mentioned above are demonstrative examples of this phenomenon.
The partnership between Russia and China extends far beyond land and sea — it reaches into the icy expanse of the Arctic. For Beijing, Russia serves as the gateway to the northern waters, unlocking access to a region of immense strategic value. While economic and trade opportunities drive China’s Arctic ambitions, its presence there signals something far greater: a bid for global leadership.
China’s interest in the Arctic is not merely about developing the Polar Silk Road or expanding scientific research. In the long run, Beijing seeks a deeper strategic foothold, one that could include joint-use military and logistical bases with Russia. As climate change reshapes the Arctic landscape, opening new maritime routes and resource frontiers, the region is poised to become an arena where geopolitics, security, and great-power competition converge.
For China, strengthening military and logistical cooperation with Russia in the Arctic is more than a pragmatic choice — it is a declaration of its rising influence on the world stage.
Moreover, the prospect of joint-use military and logistical bases is becoming more tangible. As climate change accelerates the opening of Arctic Sea routes, these facilities could support naval operations, strategic aviation, and even submarine deployments. This would not only bolster Russia’s and China’s military capabilities but also challenge Western dominance in one of the world’s last unclaimed frontiers.
In addition, there have been several cases indicating that Russia and China might well be cooperating against NATO in the field of low-intensity, deniable operations. This, so far, has primarily affected critical infrastructure. In October 2023, the Newnew Polar Bear, a Chinese ship operated by a Russian crew, damaged a gas pipeline and two undersea data cables in the Baltic Sea by dragging its anchor on the seabed.20 China admitted its responsibility almost a year later, in August 2024.21 In November 2024, another Chinese ship commanded by a Russian captain, the Yi Peng 3, cut another cable under the Baltic Sea. In January 2025, a Chinese cargo ship damaged underwater cables around Taiwan. While so far no evidence has been published about any Moscow-Beijing cooperation behind these incidents, it is clear that both adopted similar tactics, namely to use civilian ships to damage critical infrastructure.20
Despite the growth of a Russian-Sino military-technical partnership, several constraints have emerged since 2022, driven by evolving international dynamics, political priorities, and economic pressures. As a result, despite the rapid expansion of the two countries’ defense collaboration, the relationship between Moscow and Beijing remains far from a formal alliance. China, with its long-standing commitment to a foreign policy rooted in self-interest, has historically avoided binding security commitments. Unlike traditional Western-led military alliances, which come with mutual defense obligations, Beijing has maintained a policy of flexibility, ensuring that its engagement with Russia does not tie it down to any obligations that could compromise its strategic autonomy.
One of the most significant limitations stems from their differing geopolitical objectives. While both countries share a desire to challenge Western influence, their primary strategic concerns diverge. For Russia, the focus remains on countering NATO’s presence and influence, particularly in its immediate neighborhood, such as Ukraine and the rest of the post-Soviet space. In contrast, China’s main interest lies in its regional ambitions, particularly in East Asia, including issues surrounding Taiwan, the South China Sea, and its broader global ambitions, especially in Africa and the Indo-Pacific. These differing priorities limit the scope of their military cooperation outside their respective spheres of influence, as neither country is willing to fully subordinate its interests to the other. A clear manifestation of this limitation is that neither Russia nor China has voiced explicit support for the other’s territorial ambitions.22 Noteworthy is that China did not recognize the illegal annexation of either the Crimean Peninsula or the Ukrainian regions occupied since 2014 or since 2022; on the contrary, China’s conflict settlement plan published in 2023 stands clearly for the territorial integrity of all states.23
Another crucial limitation is China’s historical reluctance to enter into formal military alliances, a stance that has been reinforced since 2022. China’s official foreign policy is based on the principle of noninterference and the avoidance of entangling commitments that could lead to conflicts with other powers, particularly the United States or NATO. While, as demonstrated by territorial conflicts vis-à-vis the Philippines on the South China Sea, the principle of noninterference is evidently not applied against some of China’s neighbors; Beijing is still reluctant to openly confront Washington.24 Hence, although China continues to provide Russia with political and diplomatic support, it remains cautious about directly supporting Russia’s military actions in Ukraine or committing to any formal security arrangements, though Russia would clearly be in favor of an agreement that obligates Beijing to aid in Moscow’s war effort in Ukraine. This avoidance of binding military commitments ensures that while the two countries may collaborate on military technology and engage in joint military exercises, China’s participation remains measured and does not extend to active military involvement in Russia’s conflicts. A strong indication of the lack of any deeper commitment is the sheer fact that China did not provide Russia with military assistance by sending troops following the start of the full-scale invasion.5
The Chinese soldiers captured by Ukraine in April 2025 were not part of any organized Chinese contingent sent to fight alongside Russia, similar to the units deployed by North Korea. Instead, the two Chinese citizens were individuals who had joined the Russian army as mercenaries, hoping to earn better salaries and Russian citizenship.25 As of early 2025, there had been citizens of more than 50 nations documented fighting in the ranks of the Russian army, ranging from those from Central Asia to South America and from the Middle East to Africa. Many joined voluntarily, including the two captured Chinese; others less so. The latter category includes most labor migrants coerced into signing up for the Russian army — the possibility of contracted military service for foreigners was opened in autumn 2022. While according to Ukraine, there are more Chinese individuals serving in the Russian army, there is no indication that they are there as part of any organized Chinese military deployment.
Additionally, the imposition of international sanctions on Russia has complicated the military-technical partnership. Following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, the West, including the United States and the European Union, imposed stringent economic sanctions on Moscow. These sanctions target critical sectors, including defense technologies and military hardware. Although China has not joined these sanctions, it faces its own set of technological constraints. While Chinese companies continue to benefit from Russian military technology, particularly in the fields of air defense and aircraft, the sanctions regime restricts the transfer of cutting-edge technologies that could be critical for both nations’ military advancements. For the same reason, China is not providing Russia with what Moscow would need the most for its war against Ukraine: heavy weaponry, armored vehicles, and artillery ammunition. Furthermore, China’s own technological and economic policies discourage it from relying too heavily on Russian military. equipment as it seeks to advance its indigenous defense capabilities26
Moreover, while Russia and China have engaged in joint military exercises, these activities have been limited in scale and scope. Their exercises, such as the annual Vostok 2022 in the east of Russia and Joint Sea 2024 drills, are valuable in demonstrating military cooperation, but they do not translate into deep, operational military integration. The Chinese and Russian militaries have not exercised combined arms operations, nor have they rehearsed command-and-control tasks. The countries maintain significant differences in their military doctrines, command structures, and operational priorities, limiting the potential for joint action in combat scenarios. China, in particular, is cautious about being associated too closely with Russia in military engagements, especially in conflict zones where its own strategic interests could be jeopardized.
Thus, while Russia and China’s military cooperation has grown over the years, particularly in the post-2022 era, several limitations hinder the depth and breadth of their partnership. These constraints are rooted in divergent geopolitical goals, China’s reluctance to formalize military alliances, economic sanctions, and technological challenges, and the complexity of coordinating military actions between two large and strategically different nations. As a result, their military collaboration, though significant, remains carefully managed and circumscribed by each nation’s broader strategic interests and concerns, including the mutual lack of trust and reluctance to take up binding commitments for each other’s sake. An indicative sign is that there is no mutual military assistance or defense pledge in place between the two countries.
Within China’s political elite, there exists a general wariness toward Vladimir Putin’s leadership style, with some viewing his confrontational approach as a destabilizing force on the world stage. Therefore, while China continues to leverage its partnership with Russia to achieve its own objectives, it does so on its own terms, ensuring that its national interests remain paramount. A demonstrative example is how China is trying to manage the US sanctions introduced against Russia’s energy sector. To avoid European sanctions, Chinese companies downgraded their participation in developing Russia’s Arctic-2 liquefied natural gas (LNG) terminal project in May 2022. Gradually tightening US sanctions further hampered the construction in 2024.27 Recently, following a new round of US sanctions against the Russian energy sector introduced on January 10, 2025, the Arctic-2 LNG project is highly unlikely to be completed, as China is reluctant to deliver the necessary components as it wants to avoid tougher restrictive measures.28
This poses the evident risk for Moscow that its growing dependence on China in economic, military, and military-technical spheres could eventually shift the internal dynamics of their partnership. As Beijing’s leverage over Moscow increases, China may play a more dominant role in shaping the strategic direction of their cooperation. Some elements of this asymmetry are already visible. While Russia, which is increasingly dependent on military cooperation with China, is eager to help Beijing satisfy its security goals, it is not receiving reciprocal assistance from China to enhance its own military capabilities to the extent necessary for achieving any breakthrough in Ukraine.22
Cooperation between Russia and China has gradually evolved into a much more intricate and multifaceted strategic alignment that has far-reaching implications for both regional and global stability. This burgeoning cooperation not only serves to significantly enhance the military capabilities of both nations but also presents a direct challenge to Western security structures, particularly NATO and the United States. As Russia and China deepen their defense ties, the balance of power in key geopolitical regions, including Eurasia, the Pacific, and the Arctic, is shifting, raising new concerns about the stability of the international order.29 The growing coordination between Russian and Chinese armed forces raises the theoretical possibility of coordinated military operations across multiple theaters, from Eastern Europe to the Pacific, should the necessary political will from both sides manifest. This, if realized, could complicate Western military planning and response strategies, forcing NATO and its allies to rethink their deterrence measures. However, at present, there is no indication that the Russian and Chinese militaries have reached the level of interoperability necessary for a full-fledged military operation.
The intensification of Russian-Sino military-technical cooperation over the past few decades has also posed a significant challenge to NATO and broader Western security interests. At its core, the most notable benefit of this collaboration for both states has been the mutual political support they provide each other on the international stage. In return, this partnership has allowed China to bolster its military capabilities, acquiring advanced Russian technology, while simultaneously helping to sustain and strengthen Russia’s defense industry, particularly in light of ongoing Western sanctions. Beyond the bilateral military exchanges, the broader strategic implications of their cooperation cannot be understated. Together, Russia and China present a powerful counterweight to Western influence, undermining the United States’s and NATO’s abilities to shape security outcomes in regions of shared interest. This growing alignment not only solidifies their individual defense postures but also offers a formidable geopolitical challenge to the West’s global interests.
In response, the West must strengthen its own military alliances, enhance intelligence-sharing, and invest in next-generation defense technologies to counterbalance this emerging bloc. Additionally, NATO and its partners should take proactive measures to limit the transfer of advanced technology to both Russia and China, preventing further military advancements that could threaten global security.
China’s perception of Russia’s war in Ukraine is complex and shaped by a combination of strategic calculus, ideological affinity, and pragmatic reassessment — particularly regarding the effectiveness of Russian military technology and doctrine.
Initially, many in China viewed Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 as a bold assertion against Western influence and NATO expansion. Beijing, sharing Moscow’s opposition to what it considers a US-led unipolar order, welcomed the geopolitical distraction the war posed for Washington. Officially, China has maintained a stance of “pro-Russian neutrality,” avoiding direct condemnation while amplifying Russian narratives and blaming NATO for escalating the conflict. However, beneath the surface, Chinese military analysts, policymakers, and defense technocrats have taken careful note of Russia’s underperformance on the battlefield.
One of the most striking impacts of the Ukraine war on Chinese strategic thinking has been the exposure of serious flaws in Russian military capabilities — flaws that have surprised both Western observers and Chinese analysts. Russia’s failure to achieve a swift victory, its logistical shortcomings, lack of coordination among services, and heavy reliance on outdated Soviet-era tactics have prompted a reevaluation of Russian military effectiveness. China had long seen Russia as a source of advanced military hardware and operational experience, especially in areas like air defense systems, fighter jets, electronic warfare, and missile technology.
In parallel, the political dimension of Russia’s war conduct has also drawn critical scrutiny. Individual Chinese counterparts have begun to voice the opinion — albeit discreetly — that Putin is behaving as a fanatic with regard to Ukraine. There is a growing perception that his ideological fixation on Ukraine has overridden rational military and diplomatic considerations, dragging Russia into a protracted, costly, and possibly unwinnable war. For a Chinese leadership deeply invested in pragmatic, long-term planning and regime stability, this kind of personalist overreach serves as a cautionary example rather than a model.
This growing sense of disillusionment with Putin’s personal decision-making, however, does not fundamentally alter the broader strategic rationale underpinning Sino-Russian military cooperation. Despite Beijing’s unease over Russia’s operational failures and ideological rigidity, the partnership continues to serve China’s key interests.
The strategic interests motivating Russia and China’s military cooperation are highly likely to prevail even in the medium and long term. As long as Russia’s aggression against Ukraine continues, Moscow will remain dependent on the economic and military-technological support from Beijing. Meanwhile, China still needs Russia as a source of advanced military technology in specific sectors, particularly for missiles, submarines, and electronic warfare, even though China will soon develop beyond Russia in these fields. This prevailing technological dependence is complemented by an operational interest in absorbing lessons from Russia’s wartime practices. However, Chinese analysts are acutely aware that the technological gap between the two countries is narrowing rapidly — and in some domains, such as artificial intelligence, quantum computing, and drone warfare, China is already beginning to surpass its Russian counterpart. Military exercises at various command levels are also highly likely to continue, as the People’s Liberation Army is eager to learn from Russia’s combat experience gained in Ukraine and other recent battlefields.
Meanwhile, political constraints will probably also remain in place. While Moscow and Beijing share their aversion toward the US and the Western liberal world order, China is unlikely to take up any obligations for Russia’s sake that would limit its strategic autonomy and political freedom of movement. This particularly applies to risking major Western sanctions against its economy, which would essentially prevent the large-scale delivery of weapons, particularly of heavy weaponry, to Russia.
All in all, the limited nature of the “unlimited partnership” is unlikely to change in the upcoming years. Meanwhile, the depth and content of their military cooperation will most probably increase, along with the overlapping interests of Moscow and Beijing, even if no institutionalized, binding alliance is in sight.
Their strategic coordination does not require deep mutual trust or formal alignment; rather, it is rooted in a pragmatic convergence aimed at undermining the Western-led liberal international order — an order both powers genuinely regard as unjust. Beijing and Moscow share the belief that they have been unfairly relegated to subordinate roles on the world stage, while the United States continues to wield disproportionate influence.
For Xi Jinping, this conviction is embedded in a nationalist narrative of the “great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation” following the “century of humiliation,” and in a deep sense of historical pride in a 5,000-year-old civilization that has, in his view, been deliberately constrained in its quest for global leadership. This stands in contrast to the United States, a relatively young democracy of barely 200 years, which is seen as having illegitimately monopolized global primacy. Russia, too, harbors its own post-imperial grievance and a sense of wounded pride, viewing the West as having dismissed its status and ignored its security concerns since the end of the Cold War.
Moreover, both regimes exhibit a pronounced “besieged fortress” mentality. They tend to perceive their international surroundings as inherently hostile, interpreting the actions of neighboring states through a lens of suspicion and encirclement. This shared diagnosis of vulnerability and victimhood reinforces their instinct to cooperate, not as allies bound by shared values, but as strategic actors united by circumstantial alignment. So long as their respective goals remain compatible and both recognize that neither possesses genuine allies but only situational partners, this logic of ad hoc collaboration is likely to persist.
Alina Hrytsenko, PhD, is a political scientist and analyst specializing in international relations and security. She previously worked at the National Institute for Strategic Studies under the President of Ukraine and currently serves as a visiting lecturer at the Diplomatic Academy of Ukraine under the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Andras Racz, PhD, is Senior Fellow of the German Council on Foreign Relations (DGAP) in Berlin and is Associate Professor at the Budapest Corvinus University. He previously worked at the Finnish Institute of International Affairs and was a visiting researcher of the Transatlantic Academy of the German Marshall Fund.
CEPA is a nonpartisan, nonprofit, public policy institution. All opinions expressed are those of the author(s) alone and may not represent those of the institutions they represent or the Center for European Policy Analysis. CEPA maintains a strict intellectual independence policy across all its projects and publications.