Russia & China
An Axis of Convenience, Not Capability
Of all the strange geopolitical “Axis” arrangements, few are as unnatural as the one now proclaimed between Russia and China.
History offers a useful comparison. The Berlin–Rome–Tokyo Axis of the Second World War was itself an awkward construction. The Berlin–Rome partnership, in particular, was deeply mismatched. Benito Mussolini harboured grand ambitions of restoring Roman power in the Mediterranean and North Africa, but Italy’s industrial base and military capabilities were wholly insufficient for the task.
While Italy possessed pockets of excellence—elite units and some technically capable platforms—these were too limited and unevenly distributed to shift the strategic balance. As a result, Germany repeatedly had to rescue Italian forces: in Greece, North Africa, and across the Mediterranean. These diversions drained German resources and helped deny Berlin the decisive blow it sought against its enemies.
One factor that might have improved Axis fortunes was deeper German–Italian cooperation in armaments production, technical standardisation, and training doctrine. Earlier integration of war industries and force structures could, at least theoretically, have altered the trajectory of the war.
But regimes built on national chauvinism, racial hierarchies, and leadership ego rarely embrace genuine transparency—even with their allies. Such governments avoid exposing their military weaknesses, preferring rhetoric over practical cooperation. The result is usually an alliance in name only.
This dynamic is clearly visible today in the so-called “no limits friendship” between Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping.
Rhetorically, Moscow and Beijing have framed their relationship as a counter-Western axis. In practice, there is no meaningful war-winning military integration between them.
China has provided Russia—now one of the most heavily sanctioned states in modern history—with just enough economic and dual-use support to keep its war effort alive, without crossing clear red lines.
Russia has made incremental tactical gains in Ukraine, but at extraordinary cost in manpower and matériel. After nearly three years of full-scale war (since February 2022), Russia occupies roughly 18–19 percent of Ukrainian territory, largely in the east and south.
Ukraine has not capitulated, despite sustained pressure. Some argue this constitutes a victory for Moscow. That claim is, at best, debatable.
If Russia and China were truly coordinating to unravel Western power—politically, economically, and militarily—logic suggests Beijing would do more. Where is the substantive transfer of Chinese military capability?
Where is a Russian squadron equipped with J-20 stealth fighters?
Where are PLA Air Force personnel flying alongside Russian pilots?
Where is deep technical cooperation to resolve chronic problems with platforms such as the Su-57, Su-75, or the T-14 Armata MBT?
Where is large-scale Chinese assistance in precision manufacturing, advanced electronics, or secure communications?
If Xi Jinping were seriously preparing for a blockade or invasion of Taiwan, Ukraine would be an invaluable live laboratory for Chinese systems and doctrine. Beijing could observe how its equipment performs under real combat stress. Yet China has conspicuously avoided such exposure. Why?
Unlike Germany and Italy in the 1930s, Russia and China have a long history of mutual suspicion and conflict.
In 1969, Soviet and Chinese forces clashed along the Ussuri River, bringing the two nuclear-armed states perilously close to war.
In 1971, the USSR signed a Treaty of Friendship with India, laying the foundation for a defence relationship that continues to this day between India and post-Soviet Russia.
There are also lingering historical grievances over territory in Siberia and the Russian Far East, dating back to imperial Russia and Qing-era China. Add to this competition in global arms markets: Russia was once the world’s second-largest arms exporter, but sanctions and battlefield performance have sharply eroded its position, while China seeks to expand its own footprint.
These are not natural military partners.
There is also the pathology of the autocratic state to consider. Beijing has strong incentives not to share its most advanced military technology. Intellectual property theft has been a recurring problem in Chinese defence production, affecting both Western and Russian systems.
And then there is the darker possibility: that the PLA itself may be far less capable than advertised. If Chinese weapons systems perform poorly in high-intensity warfare, exposing them—either to Russian scrutiny or Western intelligence—would be strategically disastrous.
We still have no real-world data on how modern Chinese military equipment performs in a peer conflict. Nor do many Chinese commanders possess meaningful combat experience. By contrast, Russian systems have been tested in Ukraine—and the results have been underwhelming.
This matters. Claims that Russia could rapidly regenerate and threaten Europe—even after a hypothetical ceasefire—are increasingly hard to sustain. Extending those fears to a supposedly unified Sino-Russian war machine compounds speculation with assumption.
We understand Russian war fighting reasonably well now: its doctrine, limitations, and industrial constraints. If China’s military is, in essence, a refined descendant of Soviet doctrine with Chinese characteristics, then the question becomes unavoidable:
How afraid should we really be of a partnership that exists more on paper than on the battlefield?