CAMP CASTLE, Kuwait -- When the men and women of Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 4 left for the Middle East, many told their wives and husbands they would call when they reached Kuwait.

But when they arrived at Camp Castle in the Kuwaiti desert, their plans crackled like a bad connection. Held up by sandstorms and the huge influx of troops, the Marines hadn't yet put in the phone lines to camp. Then, the mechanical ditch digger broke.

Desperate to call home, nearly 40 members of NMCB-4 dug the three-quarter-mile trench with the foldable shovels they each carry in their backpacks. A military phone line and phone were installed. Rules were drawn up: five minutes per Seabee, critical calls first at 1600 hours.

Seabees followed the battalion chaplain like lost puppies most of Thursday trying to persuade him their calls were the most important.

But 4 p.m. came and went without one Seabee getting the olive drab phone to reach out and touch home.

Not Petty Officer 1st Class Manuel Pulido, 38, of Camarillo, who oversaw the ditch-digging project and was desperate to see how his wife is handling their home remodel and whether his 4-year-old daughter Mattea is rehearsing for her ballet recital.

Not Petty Officer 3rd Class Tom Vail, 38, of Evergreen Park, Ill., who hasn't called his kids since he got a divorce on the day of deployment.

Only Petty Officer 1st Class Dirk Goelz, 41, talked to his faraway loved one Thursday. It was only because Goelz's girlfriend was so worried that Goelz might be dead that she contacted the American Red Cross. Late Thursday, Goelz used the commanding officer's cell phone to assure her he was alive.

The others had to wait. The military line is so clogged with calls from other camps, all the Seabees could get were busy signals.

Although the Seabees are worried about chemical weapons and what else they might face in the next few weeks or months, for many what peaks their anxiety most acutely is what their families are thinking about the silence.

Not only have they not been able to call out since coming to Kuwait during the past month, but they also haven't received any letters.

E-mail? Forget about it. In this time of faxes, cell phones and instant messaging, the lack of a communication connection at Camp Castle wears hard on the Seabees.

The communication gap, though, has inspired some husbands, wives and parents to get in touch the old-fashioned way. Snail mail.

"I can't stand to write," said Petty Officer 2nd Class Ed Zilius. "When I was in Souda Bay, Crete, I would call every day. I never wrote."

But now, when he tucks himself into his bunk bed each night, he finds himself picking up either the Bible or a pen. He's afraid his youngest son will forget him.

"I've written at least five letters in the week and a half I've been here," he said.

In the letters, he tells his wife how much he loves her and their three kids, William, 4, Chantelle, 10, and Rafael, 14. He tells them about the sandstorms and his job making sure each project has the equipment necessary to be done right. But, he admits sheepishly, the "letters" are on paper not much bigger than Post-It notes.

"I don't know if she's gotten the letters. Probably not," he said. "But I just want her to know I love her. I love all of them."