In the stillness of a September dawn over the Pacific Ocean in 2024, a white-hot projectile arced into the stratosphere from a hidden launch site in mainland China. A thunderous plume of smoke marked the missile’s fiery departure. Hours later, a dummy warhead splashed down into the ocean not far from French Polynesia—just outside any nation’s territorial waters, but squarely within the South Pacific Nuclear-Free Zone.
China labeled it a “routine” military exercise. But a tranche of classified briefing documents—obtained under New Zealand’s Official Information Act—tells a very different story: deep unease, quiet outrage, and urgent backchannel diplomacy in Wellington, Canberra, and beyond.
It was the first time in over 40 years that Beijing had conducted a long-range intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) test over international waters. And for many in the Pacific, it marked a dangerous turn: from development partner to military provocateur.
The launch, carried out on September 25, 2024, by China’s People’s Liberation Army Rocket Force (PLARF), represented a sharp and unexpected show of force in a region better known for climate vulnerability and diplomatic charm offensives than Cold War-style missile testing.
The missile, believed by defense analysts to be a Dong Feng-31 (DF-31) variant—an ICBM capable of delivering a thermonuclear warhead—was fired without comprehensive public warning. Satellite imagery and later confirmation from Chinese state media revealed a launch sequence from deep within China’s interior, followed by a multi-stage flight path over the Pacific Ocean.
“It is not routine: China has not conducted this type of long-range missile test in over 40 years,” New Zealand diplomats wrote bluntly in a confidential memo addressed to then-Foreign Affairs Minister Nanaia Mahuta. “We do not want to see this test repeated.”
That sentiment echoed through regional capitals. Australia, Japan, Fiji, and even traditionally China-friendly Kiribati expressed alarm or disappointment. Yet the test still caught many off guard, especially given the symbolic location chosen for the missile’s splashdown.
The missile terminated in waters recognized under the Treaty of Rarotonga, signed in 1985 and entered into force the following year. The treaty formalized the South Pacific as a nuclear weapons-free zone, a powerful statement by island nations still haunted by Cold War-era atomic testing conducted by the U.S., the U.K., and France.
“For our region, this isn’t just about geopolitics—it’s about memory,” said Fijian academic Dr. Kalera Vuniwaqa, who specializes in Pacific security studies. “We still have communities living with health and environmental consequences from nuclear tests of the 20th century. The psychological weight of this missile test is immense.”
New Zealand officials recognized the historical sensitivity in their classified correspondence.
“This is the first time that we are aware of a test of a nuclear-capable missile terminating within the [Treaty] zone since its establishment in 1986,” read one briefing dated October 2024. The document, marked “RESTRICTED”, called the move “a significant and concerning development.”
What deeply unsettled New Zealand and its allies was not only the test itself—but how it was portrayed.
China informed major powers—including the U.S., U.K., France, Australia, and New Zealand—only the night before the launch, according to Australian government notes obtained by AFP. But the information was vague, lacking specifics about flight paths, payload types, or termination points.
Pacific island nations—many of whom receive substantial aid and infrastructure support from Beijing—received no direct warning.
“This was a calculated mischaracterisation,” said one New Zealand defense analyst, speaking on background. “By describing the test as ‘routine,’ China sought to lower the geopolitical temperature while simultaneously flexing nuclear muscle.”
The Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs remained unrepentant. “The missile test is a routine part of annual military training, in compliance with international law and international norms,” the ministry stated. “The facts are clear, and no one has been misled.”
But according to a separate internal assessment by New Zealand diplomats, “Beijing has deliberately chosen ambiguity to avoid accountability and regional backlash.”
The missile used in the test is believed to be a Dong Feng-31A, one of China’s longest-range land-based nuclear missiles. It has an estimated range of 11,000–13,000 km, capable of reaching most of the continental United States. Armed with a single thermonuclear warhead—or in more recent variants, Multiple Independently Targetable Reentry Vehicles (MIRVs)—the DF-31 is central to China’s second-strike nuclear capability.
What made this launch different was its trajectory. Previous Chinese ICBM tests have almost exclusively occurred within domestic airspace—terminating in remote desert regions like the Lop Nur testing range. This time, China opted for international waters, in what experts believe was a deliberate signal.
“The rare public ICBM test seems to have been specifically aimed at dissuading Washington from using nuclear weapons in a potential conflict across the Taiwan Strait,” wrote Hui Zhang, a researcher at Harvard University’s Project on Managing the Atom, in a 2024 article for the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists.
According to Zhang, the launch underscored China’s readiness to defend its national sovereignty with a credible and operational nuclear deterrent.
New Zealand and Australia were less convinced by Beijing’s rationalizations. Their internal documents noted that “China chose to launch this test shortly after joint U.S.-Japanese naval exercises near Taiwan,” implying a cause-effect relationship.
Dr. Nicholas Khoo, a Chinese foreign policy expert at Otago University, called the test a direct challenge to regional assumptions.
“Since 1980, China’s ICBM tests have taken place within Chinese territory. This marks a strategic departure,” he said. “It is a reminder to regional states that China is a full-spectrum power. It has economic clout—and now it’s flexing military muscle in the open.”
Publicly, Pacific governments were measured—but firm.
Japan voiced “serious concern.” Australia warned of destabilization. Fiji issued a plea for “respect.” But perhaps the most biting commentary came from Kiribati, which has maintained close ties with Beijing since switching diplomatic recognition from Taiwan to China in 2019.
“The high seas in the Pacific are not isolated pockets of oceans,” the Kiribati government said in a formal statement. “We appeal to all countries involved in weapon testing to stop these acts to maintain world peace and stability.”
That statement marked a rare rebuke from one of China’s staunchest regional partners—indicating that Beijing may have overplayed its hand.
For over a decade, China has invested heavily in the South Pacific. From sports stadiums in Papua New Guinea to roads in Vanuatu and hospitals in the Solomon Islands, Beijing’s aid and development footprint has grown dramatically. But so too have concerns about what lies beneath the surface.
“China’s presence in the Pacific isn’t just about soft power anymore,” said New Zealand political analyst Talia Morgan. “It’s about positioning—for influence, for access, and now, apparently, for military signaling.”
Indeed, the missile test arrives against a backdrop of heightened tensions over Taiwan, new U.S. security pacts like AUKUS, and growing talk of a future military base in the Solomon Islands, where China signed a secretive security agreement in 2022.
Wellington, which has historically emphasized dialogue and diplomacy over confrontation, now finds itself grappling with a more assertive and unpredictable China.
The September 2024 launch may have been just one missile—but its geopolitical fallout is still rippling across the region.
Within weeks of the test, Australia and New Zealand initiated quiet diplomatic engagements with the U.S. and Japan to bolster early-warning systems and regional military exercises. New Zealand’s Defense White Paper, due in 2025, is widely expected to incorporate a section on China’s evolving missile posture.
Meanwhile, Pacific island nations are reassessing their security arrangements. The Pacific Islands Forum, traditionally focused on climate resilience and economic development, is now confronting a return to nuclear-era fears.
“It feels like we’re back in the 1970s,” said Marshall Islands climate diplomat Josephine Kabua, “except this time, it’s China—not the U.S. or France—reminding us that we’re pawns in a larger game.”
What does Beijing gain from this test? Analysts suggest the answer lies in deterrence.
By launching a missile into the Pacific—near U.S. territories like Hawaii and allied waters—China sent a not-so-subtle reminder: it possesses the capability to respond to any perceived encroachment on its sovereignty, particularly over Taiwan.
But deterrence is a double-edged sword. It can reassure—or provoke.
In the words of one unnamed New Zealand official, as quoted in the released briefing notes:
“While China may see this as strategic signaling, it is reckless in its disregard for the security and dignity of Pacific peoples.”
The September 2024 missile test shattered more than just the tranquility of the South Pacific skies. It cracked the illusion that China’s ambitions in the region were purely economic or diplomatic. Instead, it revealed a calculated willingness to wield hard power—even in spaces long protected by treaty and memory.
