This may not qualify....
but in my opinion at the time and today, many years later, it was as close as I'd care to get.
I was thirteen and home babysitting my younger sibs, all of whom were asleep at the time. It was about 10:00pm on a Saturday night. The doorbell rang and when I answered it (behind a locked storm door), a man wanted in to use the phone (he said). When I declined, he became agitated and demanded entrance.
I quickly slammed the door and locked it. I ran to the back door to make sure it was locked. Then I went to my parents' room and retrieved my dad's .22 Winchester Mod. 69, and called my parents to come home (waaayyyy pre-911).
Our house was built so that the kitchen and family room windows were at ground level and the back door opened into a stairwell that stepped up to ground level. It was the only part of the house that I was worried about at the time since it wouldn't have taken much to kick in a window to gain entrance.
I took the rifle (loaded and cocked) to the family room and waited for Dad to get home. In the meantime, the man was running around the house, peering in the family room and kitchen windows and demanding entrance. Finally, he began to kick at the back door. I fired one round at the door, not knowing (nor caring) what I hit. The kicking stopped and man "went away", but not before he returned to the front door and repeatedly rang the doorbell.
When my dad and the police arrived (about simultaneously), they found what the police said later, was blood on the doorbell, raising the question of whether I had hit something. The police never found anyone who might have been the perp, but I learned very profoundly, that guns are pretty handy under certain circumstances, with NO workable substitutes.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it, 51 years later.