I used to fence, way back when I was cute and skinny and young and agile and brash and invulnerable.
Your typical saber -- an honest-to-gawd fightin' sharps -- has a blade in the 25-to-30 inch range which, with the grip, guard, and pommel gives you approximately three feet of sharp, pointy, edged weapon.
A weapon moreover designed for agile, active, confrontational, head-on, fast-paced fighting. Light, responsive, well balanced, steel-as-art.
It's what a bayonet would want to be when it grows up.
If you met me in a hallway or a reasonably uncluttered room with the swingin' or stabbin' weapon of your choice, and I got to have a saber, there's a real good chance -- even as rusty and old and slow and fat as I am -- that I would ruin your day, or at least convince you that you'd been in a real fight.
That's a purpose-made, field-tested, time-refined personal one-on-one combat weapon.
A joy to hold, a song to wield.
Do I paint an adequate picture of this delightful and deadly mistress of civilized savagery?
Just in case the point escapes: it's not a compromise weapon, it's not an add-on weapon, it's not an "expedient" anything; it's exactly what it was designed for: an instrument of close quarters mayhem. Civilized mayhem.
Now, here I am at home, and I hear someone breaking into the house. A scant few feet from me, on the wall, is my beloved saber. In the next room is my firearm of choice. Which one do I grab?
Well, having spent enough time on the piste with the tools of fencing to know the space requirements of the swirling, silky, slashing saber of doom, and knowing the engagement distance of it, I step lively past it into the chamber wherein my trusty carbine stands, and stand to in preparation for my appointment with the intruder.
The sword stays on the wall, its sculpted lines untouched by any of the spilt haemoglobin in the ensuing event.
Why?
Because as graceful and perfect as it is, it will be altogether too clumsy, limited and confining to be effective in an free-form engagement with as-yet unknown numbers of dastards of undiscovered equipage.
Yes, it makes for great romance, but awful tactics.
I'm grabbin' the gun.
Now, having said all that, what if I had as an option, a poor quality sword substitute stuck on the end of some kind of modern musket weighing several pounds instead of my perfectly balanced sword -- which I've already eliminated as a choice -- and I could grab that to confront the intruder(s)?
Come on. Really. Do I honestly look that clueless? Is it the hat? It must be the hat.
So, no. No bayonet.
Basically, if I'm grabbing a bayonet, it's because I have run out of all my other options.
It is entirely and only a weapon of last resort. I have knives in my kitchen that I would take in preference to a bayonet.
And if you write a video game where that scenario is required, I'm not playing it. I have no urge to inflict that kind of anguish on myself.