This reminds me of a section in T. Grady Gallant's book "On Valor's Side" about his time in the Marines during WW2 and his bayonet training:
"There were lectures on how to free the bayonet from the enemy’s body. Evidently, it stuck to him almost without fail. I had visions of being involved with a bayonet I couldn’t free, and shrank from the problem, which I never solved within my mind. The bayonet was supposed to be rammed under the rib cage, but it sometimes stuck to the backbone, or went through the shoulder blade and stuck, we were told. A bayonet rammed through ribs almost invariably stuck and great effort was required to free it, the instructor said.
We listened with rapt attention. The rule was to fire a bullet into the victim, if the bayonet stuck. “This will free your weapon quickly,” the instructor noted.
If you have a bullet, why use a bayonet? I wondered, but I never came out and asked the question. I feared it would cause complications I did not feel capable of overcoming. But it had always been my belief the bayonet was a source of comfort to those who had run out of ammunition, or who were unable to reload, at a crucial moment.
In the movies, the bayonet never sticks. How the Hollywood writers missed this point is not clear. The scene wherein the hero gets his bayonet stuck in the villain and struggles desperately to free it while an enemy patrol charges down a hill toward him, seems to me to be something they would have imagined years ago.
I qualified on the bayonet course. But I did not distinguish myself. I never did find out for sure what my weakness was. I don’t think I yelled loud enough. The bayonet charge is traditionally accompanied by a chorus of fierce yells. I did not shout loud enough, I’m sure. The sight of cold steel, it seemed to me, was more effective than hollering. But yells and shouts can terrify, as the Confederates proved a century ago. "