I have a WWII-vintage Italian Carcano carbine. It is equipped with a folding gizmo that can only be called a "bayonet" because it is somewhat pointy and on the opposite end of the gun from the buttplate. Roughly as sturdy as a bent coat hanger and fitted with a hinge wobblier than Noam Chomsky, this device was unlikely to inspire confidence in a hungry and miserably-led Italian draftee huddling at the bottom of a foxhole, knowing that somewhere out there in the desert were Gurkhas.
If there has been a worse mismatch in modern warfare than a company of Gurkhas jumping into a trench full of Italian conscripts in the middle of the Saharan night, I’m not sure what it is. It must’ve been like lobbing a sackful of weasels into a henhouse.