BEIJING — Only the Olympics could have a morning like this. The bombers and tanks have had their chance in the war between Russia and Georgia. On Wednesday, the fighting was turned over to four women in bikinis.

Easy question: Which seems a better way to settle conflict, the battlefield or beach volleyball? But peace is fragile, even when the combatants wear sunscreen and ponytails.

For the record, five days after their two nations went to war, the Georgian team of Cristine Santanna and Andrezza Chagas beat the Russian team of Alexandra Shiryaeva and Natalya Uryadova in three sets.

For the record, they hugged before the game. "We wanted to show everybody this is the Olympics," Santanna said. "We are supposed to be together."

It was one of those surreal Olympic moments, where war has raged on a distant front line, but the same nations meet in a super-sized sandbox, with the announcer trying to teach the Chinese crowd the English phrase "Uh-huh, uh-huh," so they can join in the song "That's the Way (I Like It)."

"I think this is a big lesson, you know?" Santanna said.

Sure. But about the postgame. That's when it sounded like a United Nations Security Council debate.

The complication is that Santana and Chagas are Brazilian natives who only in recent years got dual passports to play for Georgia. Brazil exports beach volleyball players like it exports coffee. By birth and most of life, these two might as well be Georgia Bulldogs.

Then again, national boundaries in the Olympics have become as passÈ as pay phones. Which is why the point guard for the Russian women's basketball team comes from South Dakota.

But since current events turned this match into something of a global showcase, the Russians were in no mood to be seeing the girls from Ipanema waving the red and white Georgia flag. Especially since they lost.

"Now Russians go home. We go on to next round," said Levan Akhvlediani, president of Georgia's volleyball organization. And not without relish.

"I don't want to get into politics because this is the Olympics. But in my heart, I wanted to beat the Russians, for sure," Santanna said. "I feel today like a Georgian."

Shiryaeva said she doubted that her opponents even know the name of the president of Georgia.

Mikheil Saakashvili, in case you didn't know, either.

Santanna answered, "I was two days ago with his wife in the village, so I don't know what they are talking about. He signed my passport."

During the formal press conference, Uryadova answered a question about the Georgian team being influenced by the war: "If they were Georgian they would certainly be influenced. But in fact they are not."

Santanna immediately responded, "Well, I have something to say." Seldom a good sign.

Then she went on in a heated voice about how hard they had played and what they had gone through to get here. And finally mentioned respect for her opponents, "I don't want there to be a war between us."

She was later asked if she had lost her temper. "I will tell the truth, I did."

Shiryaeva had one other thought. "Russia is big. Georgia is small. I think it is stupid for Georgia to make war against us."

Santanna mentioned returning to the athletes' village the other night and finding the entire Georgia delegation outside, crying together.

"They have thoughts of Georgia," Akhvlediani said. "My Georgia is a very small country. I have not slept since bombing began."

Word was they might go home. "Our president says it is better to stay here and make medals," Akhvlediani said. "So we make medals and not war."

If only it were that simple. Wednesday could not have been easy for four young women — none of them named Condoleezza Rice — surrounded by strangers with microphones asking geopolitical questions.

"I'm a volleyball player. I don't know anything about war," Shiryaeva said. "My opinion is one girl from Russia."

Behold the modern Olympics. Brazilians, playing for Georgia, annoy Russians, in China, before a room full of reporters, many of them American.

And the strains of war run right through the sands of beach volleyball. Uh-huh, uh-huh.