A REMARKABLE pilgrimage site stands outside the town of Siauliai: a mound covered in a dense forest of crosses placed by devout Lithuanians who, for two centuries, have come here to pray for God’s help and liberation from occupiers. The Soviet authorities tried more than once to bulldoze the site, only to see it reappear. After independence the now-sainted Pope John Paul II left a large crucifix in 1993. Scattered on the hallowed ground are crosses planted by passing contingents of NATO airmen; these days they, too, provide protection in the heavens.

Siauliai’s air base tells its own story of fragile statehood. Built by the pre-war Lithuanian republic, it was occupied by Stalin’s forces, then by Hitler’s Luftwaffe and then yet again by the Soviets. It was finally reclaimed by the Lithuanians, who now host NATO’s air-policing mission. Amid decaying Soviet concrete hangars, modern Western jets bristling with missiles are ready to take off at a few minutes’ notice. Pilots will not discuss encounters with Russian planes though their wall has pictures of intercepted Sukhoi-27 fighters. In one incident last year, Russian bombers carried out a dummy night-time attack on non-NATO Sweden; it was NATO, not Swedish planes, that scrambled.

The crisis in Ukraine makes for fretful times in the Baltic states, which in 2004 joined both NATO and (ten years ago this week) the European Union. Now these ex-Soviet republics, two of which have large Russian minorities, worry about being the next target of Vladimir Putin’s irredentism. Some families talk of stockpiling salt or selling their houses for fear of a Russian return. Today’s Baltics depend entirely on NATO for air defence, having been told not to buy expensive jets themselves. NATO is deploying a panoply of fighters across its eastern borderlands. The Americans raised the number of F-15s at Siauliai from four to ten. Polish MiG-29s and British Typhoons will soon replace them. In Estonia Denmark is deploying F-16s. In Poland French Rafales are flying alongside the Americans. Canadian CF-18s are arriving in Romania. They are backed by air-to-air refuelling tankers and AWACS early-warning aircraft. Off the coast, minesweepers protect Baltic harbours. America is also fielding company-sized units of paratroopers for exercises in the Baltic states and Poland.

Whether such military activity would stop Russia’s subtler destabilisation, with its little green men turning up in unmarked uniforms, is unclear. But it makes an important point about NATO. Within the alliance, even the weakest members are defended; outside, Ukraine can count only on political and economic support against Russia. Mr Putin’s militarism is bringing about the eastward deployment of NATO forces that he long denounced. Russia’s war in Georgia in 2008 prompted the allies to draw up contingency plans to protect the Baltics; large-scale Russian exercises in 2009 (culminating with a simulated nuclear strike on Warsaw) prompted NATO to hold its first big drills in the region last year; the annexation of Crimea has persuaded NATO to move forces closer to the frontier. Given Russia’s predilection for snap exercises, some are talking of stationing forces permanently in eastern and central Europe, or at least pre-positioning equipment as they did in Norway during the cold war.

The turmoil in Ukraine is also rekindling debate in neutral Sweden and Finland over joining NATO; that could create a more seamless defence for the whole Baltic region. The EU, for its part, is rushing through political and trade agreements with Ukraine, Moldova and Georgia.

NATO thus seems to be living by the promise of its guarantee of mutual defence. More pithily, it lives by the dictum attributed to Churchill that he needed just one American soldier to ensure Europe’s defence, “preferably dead”. Even though Ukraine is on Europe’s doorstep, it is America that has put a tripwire force on the ground. And it is the Americans who have set the pace in imposing sanctions. A broader embargo is under discussion in the EU but, as they struggle with weak growth after a double-dip recession, many Europeans mutter that they have more to lose than America in an economic war with Russia.

Germans, come back

At a recent security conference in Tallinn, there was open contempt for the EU’s caution. While NATO brought deterrence, one participant said, the EU offered only words. General Riho Terras, the Estonian defence chief, said Europeans should send ground forces to the Baltic: “We need to see the German flag here. Some Leopard tanks would do very nicely.” But don’t expect much from Germany, given its lingering pacifism and the strength of Russlandverstehen, or “Russia-understanding”.

Another problem is that most European allies (except Britain, Greece and Estonia) fall short of the NATO target of spending 2% of GDP on defence. Two Baltic states—Latvia and Lithuania—spend less than half of this (America spends over 4% of GDP). It does not help that the Baltics have bickered endlessly over projects that should help them stand up to Russia, whether it be the location of NATO forces, developing alternatives to Russian gas, building a joint nuclear-power station or laying an EU-financed railway to link them to the rest of Europe. One new idea is a Russian-language television station to counter Kremlin propaganda.

The Baltic trio are all small and have undergone a deep economic slump. Backsliders now promise to raise defence spending. The real lack of military punch comes from bigger allies, such as Spain, Italy and Germany. Yet symbolism matters: if countries that feel most threatened by the Russians cannot muster the political will to defend themselves, and to help each other, it will be harder for allies to protect them. Baltic armies must at least try to hold the ports and airfields long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Prayers and crosses are not enough.

Economist.com/blogs/charlemagne