LOL my "best" would definitely be a week or so ago, bringing home a Tempest to a base right on the edge of a massive Knit/Rook furball that had been raging for several hours. Base was "on the edge" mind you, but far enough away that it should have been safe... or so I thought
I think I had 5 or 6 kills, less than 20 rounds of cannon left, vapors in the fuel tank, and thoughts of hitting the rearm pad. There were at lease a dozen other friendlies lifting off or coming back at the same time, and all of a sudden I hear "REAPER, check the 190!!" "CHECK SIX! CHECK SIX!!!" "Watch it on the field!"
At this point I'm flaps full out, gear down, probably doing less than 100mph and about 10 feet off the runway about to make a squeeky perfect landing, when I hear the calls and look back to see some sack gobbler in a suicide 190D streaking in, 400 off my six and closing fast for a "straight down the runway" suicide vulch! Tracers are flying by me, then parts are falling off..... uh oh.
Somehow, I didn't eat the big one. He got my tail, right wing, and engine. I was slow enough that what was left of my Tempest crashed to the runway and started rolling, removing the other wing and prop, leaving nothing but the nose and cockpit of the plane, me alive, upside down, hollerin' and cussin' up a storm.
And yet I "landed successfully!"