ON THE face of things, the argument is all about a handful of missiles which, whatever their wider role, will make no difference to the balance of power in Europe. But the deep, multiple fault lines that the row is laying bare—both within the Atlantic alliance, and between the alliance and Russia—seem all too reminiscent of cold-war politics at their dismal worst.

To cut a lengthening story short, America hopes to deploy parts of an anti-ballistic-missile system on the soil of two NATO allies: just ten fairly simple interceptors in Poland, and a radar system, able to track incoming missiles as they hurtle through space, in the Czech Republic. And senior Russians, especially the top brass, are growling in response. They are adamant that the new installations threaten their national security—despite America's insistence that the interceptors are aimed only at stopping the rockets from rogue (potential) nuclear powers like Iran.

Sergei Lavrov, Russia's foreign minister, gave the argument a new twist this week by asserting that shafts used for interceptors could easily be adapted to accommodate offensive weapons. At the same time, indignant Russians add, the new kit is not such a threat that they couldn't deal with it easily. “Since missile-defence elements are weakly protected, all types of our aircraft are capable of applying electronic counter-measures against them or physically destroying them,” declared one general, Igor Khvorov, this month.

The American in charge of building the new shield, General Henry Obering, has painstakingly spelled out reasons why the system's location should be a source of reassurance, not concern, to the Kremlin: the sites on NATO's eastern flank are in the wrong place to stop missiles launched from Russian soil. Moreover, he added this week, France, Germany, Italy and even western Russia are all potential beneficiaries of a system that could, if it works, stop a missile from a pariah state in its tracks.

In any case, Russia's strategic rocket force still comprises hundreds of launchers, and thousands of warheads; its capacity, like that of America, to annihilate any enemy will remain firmly intact. In franker moments—whether in the private comments of officialdom or the public words of President Vladimir Putin—the Russians admit that their firepower is not really threatened.

Nor can Russia claim to have been surprised. American officials reel off at least ten occasions when they discussed the missile-defence project with Russian opposite numbers. Both Robert Gates, the present defence secretary, and his predecessor, Donald Rumsfeld, told their Russian counterparts about the plan; General Obering has given a briefing in Moscow; and there have been two set-piece discussions in the NATO-Russian Council.

But the dishonesty is not all on the Russian side. Take the muddled reaction of politicians in Germany, and the unconvincing efforts by the left-right coalition to present a united front over the issue.

The instinctive reaction of Frank-Walter Steinmeier, Germany's foreign minister and a member of the centre-left Social Democratic Party (SPD), was to rebuke America for “startling” Russia with talk of placing fancy new kit in the neighbourhood. “Because the stationing sites are getting closer to Russia, one should have talked with Russia first,” he chided. The SPD chairman, Kurt Beck, went further. He has called the missile-defence plan a prelude to an arms race, and said: “We don't need new missiles in Europe.”

In a fitting response, perhaps, to an artificial row, Germany's political masters have devised an artificial solution—at least to the internal German dilemma. Chancellor Angela Merkel, a Christian Democrat whose instincts are more Atlanticist than those of her coalition partners, has signalled through a spokesman that she wants to “NATO-ise” the issue of new missile defences.

What does that mean? Not much, in practice—but this ugly word reflects the political fact that to some European ears, the common deliberations, and ultimately common decisions, of NATO have a slightly softer, fuzzier sound than anything done unilaterally by the United States. NATO, after all, is a partnership in which all members, at least formally, have a say.

Others are now jumping aboard the “NATO-ising” bandwagon, including politicians in the Czech Republic, where a poll showed just 31% of voters in favour of the shield. According to the foreign minister, Karel Schwarzenberg, many Czech legislators would find it much easier to support the installation if “it could be included somehow in the NATO system”.

In hard military reality, the new system cannot be included. The radars and interceptors will be built by America, and controlled by America, and deployed by bilateral agreement with the hosts. If people hope for a non-American, or NATO, finger on interceptor buttons, they will be let down. In Berlin earlier this month, General Obering was asked whether his system should be brought into NATO. “I believe this system would complement NATO very nicely,” he replied carefully.

As it happens, NATO has for years been preparing for the more limited option of a theatre missile defence, which could indeed be jointly procured and managed by the alliance. But strategic interceptors, albeit few in number, are another matter: the Pentagon won't share the keys with anyone. This week, a Pentagon official stated, at a congressional hearing, that the need for unanimous decision-making in NATO made it the wrong place to decide how missile defences should be deployed.

Even if it is phoney in parts, the missile-defence row cannot be shrugged off easily. Senior American officials find it dispiriting that Russia has again divided Europe. When Russian generals threatened to attack missile-defence sites in Poland and the Czech Republic, some European politicians fretted that Russia was being “pushed into a corner”, to quote Luxembourg's foreign minister. The fact that Europeans are more protective of Russia than of their newish NATO partners does not bode well for alliance solidarity.

One centre-right German member of parliament, Karl-Theodor zu Guttenberg, said it was “worrisome” that so many German voters, even on the right, proved receptive to Russian arguments. Mr Putin's anti-American speech at a conference in Munich last month seems—as Mr zu Guttenberg puts it—to have been “rather ridiculous, but effective”.

Even among new NATO members where voters are broadly pro-American, affection is wearing thin, and the Iraq war's toxic effect is being felt. Iraq explains why 51% of Poles opposed the missile-defence plan in one recent survey, says Radek Sikorski, an Atlanticist Pole who recently lost his job as defence minister amid a row over how exactly to negotiate with the United States over missile defences.

The Polish government may agree to host interceptors, but parliament could still say no, says Mr Sikorski: “This is blowback from Iraq. We used to take things on trust from the United States in the security field”—but that is no longer the case.

America wants a swift decision from Poland and the Czech Republic, ideally this year, so the first interceptors can be in place in 2011 (though Tony Blair's offer of Britain as an alternative site for interceptor missiles remains on the table). Such assent is not a foregone conclusion.

The missile-defence row has also exposed a second fissure in NATO's ranks, about the very idea of deterrence. The nuclear states, Britain and France, broadly agree that peace is guaranteed by great powers being able to deter threats credibly: hence France's (discreet) support for an American shield.

But in some parts of Europe, America's wish to keep a deterrent capability in the face of new threats is seen as destabilising. Mr Steinmeier asserted this month that peace was “no longer based on military deterrence but on the willingness for co-operation.” Others close to the SPD grassroots are blunter. Rolf Mützenich, an SPD spokesman on disarmament, argues that if missile defence gives a sense of “100% security” to Americans, “that will bring some problems for stability.”

As one NATO hand puts it, the row over missile defences has made plain a broader challenge to America's moral sway over its old allies. Four years after the assault on Iraq, America can sound a warning about threats from rogue states—only to find many European voters would rather hear the opposite message from Russia.